An Old Draft.

There was sorrow in her presence or maybe there was just something sad about her. It hung over her head as she walked by and followed her every step. It lived off of her and she embodied it. Sorrow so sad that it took all of the air out of the room and replaced it with gloom or maybe it was something darker than that. She was a sad case or maybe her case was sad because everything she created was a masterpiece wrapped in pain so thick that it practically swallowed you. It was hard to look at because if admired for too long, it would start to seem like a reflection of your hidden demons. She didn’t say much or maybe there wasn’t much to say because when you’ve embodied tragedy like that, you realize that the only things of importance are your last words so she only spoke to add meaning to her end or maybe to show that hers might be near.