once you wrote me a letter on your
typewriter with a quote from the little
prince (which took me only an hour
to read)

because it is she that I have listened
to when she grumbled, or boasted or
even sometimes when she said nothing.
she is my rose.

perhaps then, I was thankful for all the
times when I was angry, naive or
mean in which you only smiled and
tried to hold me. Maybe we really
did love each other.

I am painfully grateful, if that is
even possible.