When love is forbidden, crying is a sin
Twisted arms rise, casting lazy shadows on the dusty earth. Brushing back strands of hair, she leans against the tree trunk to survey all that lies beneath the hill. Slender fingers smooth the ruffles in her skirt, folding it neatly before she sits. Ignoring the prickle of the grass and the crackle of dry leaves, her eyes remain shut. Slow. Sudden. Warm droplets escape and trickle down her cheeks. Her fingers unclench and a piece of paper flaps off in the afternoon breeze. Nails clawing into her palm, her heart violently cries out as the sun disappears behind the clouds.