She looks at me through blue, black and purple.
Heavy rings around her eyes.
No ring on her finger.
Temporary bruises beneath her clothing.
Permanent scaring underneath her skin.
The colours of her pain have substituted her friends.
He left her to choke.
She can no longer see his face.
She seems to have forgotten about grace.
She runs back into his arms like they’re her refuge.
I never understood the notion of looking for happiness in the same place you lost it.
She can no longer identify love.
Her solitude must taste like freedom.
She down plays her hurt…
Discredits her logic.
She no longer sees her beauty.
She believes loving him, is her duty.
She no longer loves herself.
It’s evident by the way she carries herself.
I watch her from the sidelines, and wish that I could erase every bad memory of hers, but I know those will eventually build her.
She looks at me through the colour of bruises and I hold her tightly because I know I’m the only one who sees this side of her.
And forever I will hold her as tight as I can.