Her home was just as it was then.
Dead flowers sitting on the dining table,
Floors wrecked by the movements of angry feet,
Calendars that held memories
Of days and days of domestic voilence,
Broken mirrors that reminded her of broken trust,
A broken bond,
And three broken hearts.
Ten years later,
And her somber childhood
Could still stare at her
From cracked and pale walls.
Nothing was new,
Except the tombs of two lovers,
Who never loved each other,
Whose dead bodies now slept side-by-side,
In depths of brown earth,
Leaving behind the hurtful memories
Of their mistakes,
Painted in the heart of their daughter.