And yet she slumbers,
knowing not what goes through his mind,
and little more of what goes through her own.

Listlessness in terms of what to do,
and what not.

What's there to do when both the kettle and the *** are black?
Is it what many call love?

Why does it feel different than rom-coms
and everything that seems so well to point it out.

Instead, it's a hunger; it's a hunger to do more for the sake of her.
For the sake of self, and more for the sake of the one who created them both.

*Let us pray