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Mar 2012
One hand,
On the left shoulder.
Comforting a shaking girl.
It means more than he could ever know.
It's not a hand,
It's just a show that someone knows her well enough to comfort her in the way she loves best.
Not a counselling session,
Not eloquent words,
Or condolences,
But simply the physical presence, the "being there".
She craves that,
Simple touch, no ulterior motives, no....
Save the being-there-ness.
He gives her that, simple love, no romance or anything,
Anything like that.
The warmth of his palm permeates to her soul, reminding her that someone is there, someone is caring quietly, praying, protecting her.
He may give terrible hugs, but he gives, he gives.
RIP Tolstoy, 28/3/2012
My best friend was comforting me and he deserved this poem, Aidan, thankyou for being the best, truest friend I've ever known.
Eliza Jane
Written by
Eliza Jane  australia
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