She had been through darkness so many times that she could have drawn maps there.
Yet, never displaying any signs of something other than a life filled with joyous securities to an onlooker's eye.
Bringing forth sweet syrup-coated, ripening plum impressions of a blissful and tender orchard heart.
She knew all the ways to color in the shatters.
She knew all the shades to better the lines.
Painting glorious pictures of agnostic angel wings upon the poetic garden window.
No wonder she failed to notice all the ones passing through.
I really like this. It is beautiful in it's darkness.