She sits at the window, watching the rain slowly pass time as it dribbles and drops and splatters gently across the glass. Soft delicate streaks are left but she makes no effort and shows no intention of cleaning the window in the morning. There's no point to life without him.

She has written numerous poems about him but now they lay scattered across the unpolished wooden floor like a huge white bear rug. All of them describe how she is feeling inside; hopeless and full of despair. She rises from her seat and walks over to them her bare feet making a slight muffled sound. The floor boards do not creak. She picks one of the poems up gingerly with the tips of her finger not wanting to dirty it with the fresh wet tears that still lingered on his fingertips.

'Life was perfect, life was great

We had been brought together by the hands of fate

But not you're gone and I miss you

My heart that was once feeling to little

Now feels every wound

But now that I'm not longer feeling a little

I'm just too late

And a heart that is too late can only break

For I am no longer with you'

She crumples the sheet of paper to her chest and gasps as she lets out a loud sob. Images of their first date, their first kiss, happy moments they had shared together and insignificant memories that she now holds so dear, come flooding back into her brain, shocking her with such an intensity that she falls to her knees. Her fist slams itself against the flooring until it is purple and swollen.

The woman, now looking years older than what she really is, picks up another poem. This one is older, she can tell by the texture of the paper it is written on. It is no longer smooth and creamy white but now crinkled with recent age and a faded colour no longer the white it has once been but not yet yellowing either. She reads.

'I wake up in the morning

And you're the first thing I see,

Your face staring back at me.

I smile and crawl over to you

Wrapping myself in your arms,

My fingers cascading your palms.

Our bodies pressed together,

Your warm breath against the nape of my neck.

I've never felt so happy, I no longer feel like Macbeth.

So I close my eyes and begin to drift back to sleep

And in my ear I hear you say, "I love you"

And in my nearest sleep I whisper back, "I love you too"'

The tears are becoming harder and harder to control, they are almost flowing freely and yet she picks up another piece and reads hoping that one of them might be the answer to mending her broken heart.

'When I think about you I lose myself in a daze.

Your eyes wander through my mind, hopelessly cascading, smiling at me, loving me.

Eyes so perfect that I wonder how they even came to be.

How someone as beautiful as you could truly exist.

Did I meet you by chance?

Did I meet you by luck?

No, we both know it was fate.

We both know that it was love.'

These pages written from nothing more than her pure emotion are now tear stained and no longer smooth for her fists have scrunched them up as she now clutches them like straws; they are the only thing left that she has to hold onto. Her sanity is already beginning to fade.

The rain is now heavier as the crash of thunder can be heard off in the distance. Each individual rain drop pelts itself against the rooftop creating an echoing and almost deafening sound within the hollow house. The speed and consistency of the rain now matches her tears.

What would he say if he saw her like this now? Would he be ashamed of what he had left her to dissolve into or would he think that she was no more than a pathetic young girl?

She picks herself off of the floor now, the poems still scrunched up in her hand. She bends down to pick up another one but she will not read it, not yet. There is a time and a place for everything and although this is the place it is not the time. This particular poem can wait for its moment to shine and shape her life into something less delirious and less real than reality itself.

She winces in pain at every step she takes towards the stereo she has had ever since she was a small child, however the pain she winces from is not that of a physical wound but that of a broken heart. The pain is immense and leaves her every breath ragged as she finds it hard to breath. Her chest feels tight and swollen as she now clutches her hand full of poem to it. Her mind thinks this will ease the pain and surely enough it does but even she knows that it is all mind over matter.

Her long white fingers reach for the switch on the stereo and flick it on to a local radio station that plays the golden oldies she grew up with. She hopes for something soothing, something happy like Dragon, The Eagles, David Bowie, The Beatles or perhaps even Queen but she finds herself listening to non other than Dire Straits 'Romeo and Juliet'. Her heart plunges and begins to sink, once again she finds herself having trouble breathing and yet she does nothing about the music, she allows it to keep on playing drowning out the sound of the rain against the rooftop.

'I cant do the talk like they talk on tv
And I cant do a love song like the way its meant to be
I cant do everything but Id do anything for you
I cant do anything except be in love with you

And all I do is miss you and the way we used to be
All do is keep the beat and bad company
All I do is kiss you through the bars of a rhyme
Julie Id do the stars with you any time'

She clutches her hands to her ears trying to prevent any more of those heart breaking lyrics from entering her mind and filling her head with dark thoughts that would only end up harming her. She had to stay positive; such love words in a silly little song should not be able to move her in such a way.

The feelings she now expresses only to herself are of deepest meaningful sorrow. Her heart aches for him to come back and yet she knows he will do no such thing. He told her again and again that he love her no more and that she had never meant anything to him. But she had known from the moment that those last few words had slipped his mouth that he had been lying. He did love her, he always had but she was no longer sure if he always would. He had no reason to leave her. He was not trying to protect her and she knew that there was no one else. So why had he done it? Why had he broken her heart in such a way that it felt as if it were constricted by the vines of a rose bush, cutting deeply into it and allowing her to bleed such sorrow. She had never asked much of him. She had never asked him about marriage and children and had never expected it either, these were things that she waiting for in life, they were the unexpected little joys that brought many people such hope.

The faint sound of the doorbell chimes over Dire Straits' 'Romeo and Juliet'. Her breath catches as she mutters his name under her breath and carefully walked over to the floor length window she had originally been looking out of.

She was on the second floor as she looked out of the window down to the front door. Her heart skipped another beat at the sight of him standing there. He was soaked from the rain and his eyes looked red and puffy as if he had been crying from the moment he had left her house not all that long ago. The mere sight of him filled her heart with even more heart ache as she bit down on her lip trying to contain her emotions from unleashing themselves any further. She knows he cannot see her from up here but still she restricts herself from crying, from even uttering the slightest sound. Her heart beat is rapid as she tries to calm down. His name is on the very tip of her tongue, wanting to pass through her lips to beckon him, to cry out to him.

Instead she diverts her eyes away from him and looks straight into the glass, at the reflection of herself staring back at her. Her eyes too are much like his are now. Red and puffy, sore from the tears they have shed. Her face looks drawn and hollow as if these past few hours without him in her life have sapped away her inner self and left only a hollow human casket. Does he know of the pain that he had put her through?

"How could anyone do such a thing to the person they love" she says quietly to herself whilst she continues looking into the darkened eyes that reflect none other than her own.

The door bell chimes again and still she ignores it. She pulls her hand away from her chest and looks at the scrunched up pieces of paper. Her emotions and inner thoughts are expressed in these single pieces of paper.

"How easy it would be to burn them"

She separates the one poem she has not read from the others and smooths it out as best she can before she reads. The paper is dampened with her tears and some of the words have been washed away from her tears but she can still read it, this particular poem is etched into her heart and soul.

'I would die a hundred times,

Just to see you smile once.

I would throw myself off a cliff,

Just for that one last lingering kiss.

If I could make love to you,

That is one moment I'd never wish to end.

But if there's one thing I want most,

I want you to be happy, with or without me in the end.'

The doorbell chimes again but she had no intention of answering it.