Some hands build and some hands break. For the longest time only she could see that his were capable of both.
She forgave him she said. But how can something be forgiven if it hasn't been forgotten?
Peculiar that a repeat offender would find offense in the difficulty to cope with such intertwined yet juxtaposing emotions.
Pain behind every smile.
Comfort dripping with every tear.
But that ended weeks ago, and I believe him this time. . .
She's unbreakable now.
Even if old wounds were to reopen, the formaldehyde couldn't stain her new, swan-white dress like the blood used to.
I haven't seen her at peace since she was my little angel. But she's an angel of a different sort now, lying in a bed of maple wood and fresh roses.
And God she looks beautiful.