Her front door was open,

no car parked in the front.

Her sobs could be heard

from the back of the

room.

My feet made small shuffles

as I walked over to the balcony.

Her fingers were curled against

the edges as she looked down.

Five stories down.

Her foot pressed itself against the

edge; my footsteps increased.

As she was about to throw

herself away from a world

of hatred and bitterness, my

arms wrapped around her

tiny torso. She screamed

and kicked her legs. Hitting

my chest with her fists.

I held her in my arms on

the balcony, on the floor

where roses and thorns

grew. She sobbed her

obscure sorrows into

the veins of the plants

until the stars frowned

down at us.

I wish I could tell her that

it'll be okay. That it will be

okay as long as I'm here.

But I couldn't. Maybe actions

do speak louder than

words.