a writing by Skye Whitnie Lovell

She wakes up and stares into the urn that holds what's left of the only home she's ever known.
She forcibly fakes a smile whispers a broken hello and pulls herself out of bed to face yet another painful day filled with emptiness and heartache.
She holds the last conversation ever spoken between them in her head like a broken record trying to understand why she didn't say the things she wished she had sooner and as she opens her mouth to scream a broken little girl cries out for her mother instead.
The four walls of her home are covered in decaying flowers a gesture of sympathy from friends and loved ones who just couldn't face her in her greatest defeat so compromised a shoulder for beauty that would inevitably to wither away and die just like her mother had done days before.
Weeks pass and although the calls from friends and family have long since stopped the graveyard of flowers still fill the darkened room. petals fall one by one mirroring each tear that falls on her red salty cheeks and she snaps under the pressure of all the darkness that envelopes her now.
She reluctantly graps a handful of thorns disregarding the piercing pain that rips open her palms and the blood that soaks her white church dress and cleanses the house of any reminace of her mother's passing.
As she falls to the floor clutching her mother's picture she curses the God she prayed to for miracles months before damming him for not saving her to grief stricken to see he'd given her mother the miracle all along when he set her free, he saved her from her cancer when he let her go in peace!

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