She sits, rocking herself. Clutching her arms to her chest. She hums an off-key melody. Hauntingly familiar, comforting in its rythum. Yet in each note you can hear the wistful sighing of her heart. She rocks with empty arms. Once in awhile an ember burns within her eyes, as she sees someone, you watch it die as she realizes it isn't him. It never is, And never will be him again. For she rocks with empty arms. She keeps a book of fading photograghs, if you look through it quick, you can see him grow. The last picture a smiling young man, sitting by a cake with twenty candles burning. You know there isn't more, because she rocks with empty arms.
