she examines the tallies on her arm—

 

a red one

for each time

she’s loved

and lost.

 

one single black mark

 

for the love

she’s not yet lost.

an inch of hope.

her inch.

 

the mark she made

the moment she first heard

her sing and

smiled in return.



 

a smile can bring

an inch of hope.

sometimes that’s all it takes.



 

soulmate,

they said.

that was the black mark

soulmates love and

never leave.

 

soulmates never

become a red mark.

she watches

her stare out

the window,

eyes emptier than the clear panes

themselves.

 

if it were anger,

she could soothe it;

 

if it were pain,

she could mend it;

 

if it were sorrow,

she could swallow it

with her.

 

but this wasn’t pain.

every day she tried

to bear the weight,

she drowned with her.



 

that was the day

the tally mark

 

turned red.