A Stranger

There's a girl in your bed.
You don't know her.
She's naked, wrapped up in your sheets.

You don't know her.

Her skin is soft and her lips are trembling.
Eyes closed, she sighs softly.
She has forgotten how to cry.

The translucent circles under her eyes reflect more than the mirror behind you.
You watch her in a silence that screams.
She can't see you, she can't hear you, she can't feel you.

The room is almost black.
The air is thick.
She is still here.

You don't know her.

Her breaths are as hollow as yours are heavy.
Your lashes are wet with the tears she wishes she had.
She exhales.

The words "I'm sorry" slip from between her lips.

Barely audible.

You hold her in your tired arms.
Lies of reassurance pour from your soul.
She is carried away with the wind, taking your heart with her.

The sky is dark.

The sun forgets to rise.

You're empty.

You don't know her.