locked in a salty birdcage

She’s sitting against the wall, against the wood. Her hands are clenched in fistfuls of her own hair as she looks down, into herself, even as her legs are held tight against her chest. The world around her, in black and white, slowly moves into a mute melody. And as the rain falls on her face, rolls down her messy hair and scratched dignity, down her neck, rolling over skin as if it was just another mountain, her words are frozen, unspoken, in the air before her. They turn into a chain of crystal drops which glisten with the silent sobs of loss. She reaches out to touch it, to taste it, to feel its cold grip on her gaze. The taste of salt and a tinge of ocean make her swallow silent.