doorbell, 2a.m.,
she stands there in the cold.
wrapped in a dark grey jacket,
and pain and a dying hope.
he opens up, lets her in.
the fire's warmth feels cold.
she starts crying knowing he'll
never love her again if he knew.

if he knew her darkest secrets
kept vaulted from the world;
all the things that she's ashamed of
that incarcerate her soul.
if he knew she knew she was wrong,
yet in weakness carried on,
how could he love her still?
where would that love come from?

but he opens her heart like a letter,
and reads it inside out.
then, in silent darkness holds her,
until no more tears streak down.
"i've loved you from the beginning,"
he says, and lifts a ***** silver plate.
he wipes it with his white t-shirt,
and with it clean, she sees her face.
"i love everything about you
amidst the mistakes you made
and now i know all that you've done
i love you more, i do," he says.
"i'll wipe all your ***** silver plates;
all the heartbreaks and the shame."
she smiles now, she understands:
she's white as snow, she's not the same.

he sees her to the door now,
as the midnight snow falls down.
he's wiped the darkness off her;
she knows where love comes from.
the snow does not feel cold now;
the cold was from her soul.
"go now," he says, "and when you fall,
you can always
come back
home."

-c.t.