The slow rustle of leaves,
the falling crescendo of water dripping into soft soil.
A slowing heart rate.
A silent stillness.
A patch of even, untouched sand.
A parcel of stretched, bleached canvas.
Existing to bear the impressions others make on her skin.
Alive to wear the world’s scars.
Her heartbeat mimicking the ebb and flow of the tide.
Her filling and falling chest matching the wind caught in her lover’s sails.
Her eyelids blinking for every human tear shed.
Her life consumed by the weight of the world.