She was...

She was.
Cornered by confusion, hate, anger. She is a soul incomplete and smacked by frustration. She is a soul lost, tainted, bewildered. Anxiety and betrayal thrust upon her, treating her like an unwanted piece of flesh, thrown out into a rubbish bin for the hounds to chew on. She is not a life, but a gloomy death which surrounds the very meaning of passion. She was once quaint and now she is nothing but unwanted, terrorised by love, sacrifice, compromise and forced to choose between two rights. She is lost. A soul lost.

Her aura floated past me and it seemed as if I'd known her forever. It seemed as if her soul had been attached to mine for an eternity, yet parted in a split second. She was love, laughter, happiness but she didn't know it. She was mine, my property; mine to play with, break and abuse, mine to admire. But she left, her aura was no longer swaying to the rhythm of my heartbeat, but to the passing train that went by but disappeared in the distance leaving only traces of smoke, a basket of pollution. She was trust, but broke herself, the trust that was a vital link in the chain of communication between us. Her voice rings in my ears, a singing voice so mellow which demands nothing but tears from my tear-filled eyes. I anticipate nothing but loneliness after her departure, but consequently a life filled with an adequate amount of joy to live the remainder of life to its fullest.

She was the water that bathed me with pride, that substantiated her ego. She was the root of our unity, but additionally the destruction of those very roots. She was the death of us, yet she haunts my mind, my heart and my soul.