A long, long time ago, a little girl grew tired of crying.
She could not squeeze the love from those around her any more than she could wring blood from stone.
In time, though, she realized that she could be needed.  
She could be, if not beloved, then necessary.
But even when she became necessary, why could she not become beloved?

So she tried, and tried, and tried, and tried, and tried.

The job is done now.
It was not easy, of course.
But that is why they asked me to do it.

I wonder if I will ever stop trying.  
There is an appreciation for the one who completes the tasks nobody wants to do.
But there is a fear there, too.
They are disgusted by that which is too different from them.
And I have made myself into their dog.

Out of:
Love?  
Or lack of it?

I did it for them.