Reading between the lines of the things left unsaid

she painted images

with her eyes.

She’s got the world spinning around her

she’s got the stars in the night

talking to her dreams.

She’s got a phone number written on a napkin

in lipstick red.

It’s an old relic of some old used to be.

Used to be there was magic

somewhere in the whispers.

They’re all ghosts now.

They’re tears shed on the carpet in the centre

of her room.

She’s leaving pieces of herself behind

looking for new ways to draw

herself into the place

away from

the place where she used to be.

She’s got her reflection in the window

barely recognizing the opening in the doorway.

And she’s got the whispers of the things left unsaid floating through her mind.