My love sits in a corner of a brightly lit room. Hugging her knees she rocks herself to sleep. Her frame is small and frail and she cowers from the light. There are bigger, greater loves than hers they tell her and she shrinks further into the background merging with the soft cream and peach of the ideal lover's den. If it be small, is it not love? How can she lift her chin and face your love if you tell her she doesn't exist, if you tell her she is not enough? It has been a while since she stopped believing in herself. It's been a while since she could speak or stand. Take her in your arms when you have time. She grows weak and flutters helplessly with every harsh wind that blows. Hold her and gently press your lips on hers. For even love needs loving sometimes.
good to see you back.
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