Sparkatale

I don’t believe in beautiful smiles, not anymore. Lucy had a beautiful smile. It wasn't like the ones you read about, it wasn't bright, or radiant, and I don't remember it ever lighting up a room; she just wasn't that kind of girl. ... Her smile was beautiful in the way of red roses on an old stone grave, one that's been standing for God knows how long because the letters had been worn away by the gentle, wistful touch of those left behind; Because that's all that's left of them. ... Her smiles were beautiful in the way roses on a grave are beautiful: their color fleeting, and they filled with a sorrow too much for words.