She walked; no, walked could not describe the way she moved.

She glided down the hallways, turning every head like the giant wind turbines that littered the plains she lived in and dropping every jaw like the first leaves of autumn.

She had a body as marvellous as anything anyone could dream of, the epitome of perfection and flawlessness.

She was not just another pretty face though.

She was smart.

She was caring.

She was mine.

She always wore a smile and always played her beautiful melodious laugh.

She never let anyone see her sad or crying.

She never told anyone that she was sad.

She dealt with it alone, when everyone she knew would have dropped everything to help her.

She affected so many people when she took her life.

She never let anyone know it was coming.

She did it so suddenly, without any warning.

She entered the tunnel at four in the morning.

She left us all at her funeral mourning.

She sat at the side of the highway, with nothing left to say but one last thing to prove.

She walked; no, walked could not describe the way she moved.

She glided into the highway, still as beautiful and marvellous as ever.

She glided her way into her grave.

She gave everyone everything she had to give, until

she was so empty she had to end it all.

She was perfect.

She was broken.

She was loved.

She did not love herself.

She is my best friend.

She will always be in my heart.