candles light up her room
it smells like herbs
and flowers

fall is her favorite season
she enjoys the rain
while dancing trough the woods
barefooted

she's one with nature and the sun
but in love with the moon

I'm sharing a house with her;
She's the moodiest person I know

She drinks her coffee without sugar
in the cold days,
and with sugar in the sunny days.
She calls it way of living;
      I call it lost of interest

She sleeps all day
to drive her demons away
     -I think
      she's creating more-
and if not,
she cries over a crack in the wall

Melancholy should be her second name
      -she annoys every cell in me
        I'm not even trying to explain-
so much sadness in a face
she destroyed the colours of our furniture  
in the very first day

I think of driving her off the house
but then,
  an abandoned house
is the most miserable thing
I can think about

Time doesn't heal.
And the wound knows it.
Layers gather on the ****
but the damage remains,
hiding itself deep inside
the secret scar