It wasn't the rain. Or the thunder. She wasn't scared of it. It was a part of her. No more no less. Her heart beat with the lashing of the rain and her thoughts flashed on and off with the thunder. She was one with the storm. It had become her. The rain beating on her up turned face, the wind thoughtlessly playing with her curls. She never moved, never flinched, though rain fell into her open eyes.
A gaping hole, singed at it's edge, huge, yawning, hungry, had enveloped her heart, leaving nothing but a cold empty spot where once she had resided. Her thoughts a fleeting as they were torn the hole ever bigger, washing away any happy thoughts, any feeling of hope, any idea of love.
That was her story. An empty shell. She would not see him. She would not hear him. She would never taste him again. Never again. No heart could stand firm against such lose. Nor would she have it any other way. Should she think or move on or even attempt to stand, she would not but feel the pain. The pain upon pain. Pouring in from all sides closing around her, embracing her, closing her off from anything.
That was her story. A lost hopeless being finding solace in one stable thing. The one thing ever to love her. To hold her tight. To understand. To even care. It was gone. Stolen, removed, lost. Never to be seen again. But too bad this story has no happy ending.
They watched her. For three weeks she sat there. Eye wide mouth slightly open face up staring into the heavens hoping for the return of one who was gone forever. Wasting away to a mere skeleton, drinking what little water came from the rain. They had tried to feed her. She puked it up. They tried to move her. She returned to that spot. They went to talk to her. They knew she was empty. A void. Nothing left. No one there.
They watched her. For three weeks until she fell. Life leaving her body. Not a whisper of a final breath nor a light dying in her eyes for she had died long age. She was gone. Gone to be with her beloved. Never to see them again.