She carries her sadness in a brown leather suitcase with silver buckles
Strolling through the halls of an empty mind palace,
Humming along to quiet echoes of what once was
Sunlight streaming through shards of stained glass windows, cracked stone pillars and shelves
Dust mites dancing in dark corners
Pothos peeking through pinholes in patterned tile
And she stops, and she looks at that great, crumbling, stone automaton, silent and still
And she laughs, that silver girl, suitcase in hand and storms hidden deep beneath her pupils
She laughs
And it is beautiful