She always looked so tired
Like her green eyes hated to stay open
And her neck couldn't hold her head up;
Not with all of her thoughts going like racehorses down a track.
I loved the way she trudged this way and that
And how every breath she breathed was deliberate and thoughtful,
She planned each step and blink as if it was her last
That's the way it seemed.
Except when she felt the words moving through her
In a song
Or a poem
Or a story
And her neck would strain to feel it like a cool breeze on a hot day
Her eyes would open and refuse to close
Hoping it was the last sight they ever saw.
Her tired, trudging breath and feet turned into springs and she swayed
With the music of the words she felt inside of her.
And I loved her for it.
And for everything else.