Breaking Point

Her face did not break.

She held so much grief, and yet her face stayed calm.

Time and experience had taught her survival skills,

Had taught her camouflage.

She blended well with the others.

But this time...

This time, the tears came.

Not in torrents.

Not in storms.

But in steady streams.

Like an object had poked a hole,

In her store bag of unshed tears.

Something harsher, had gained entrance.

Her tears lined her cheeks,

Like colourless paint.

They were cold to the touch.

They had been in storage

For too long a time.