She loved her with little rays of sunshine and Pitter patter tears.
Her love was like dew drops on grass blades on a misty morning. Like a butterfly loitering around a little girl. Like money on a starved beggars hand.
It was a humane love built with illogical trust and belief. It was made of burnt bricks of built up grief and an exhaustion which comes from an eternal search for a handful of love.
Her love was the size of her soul. It was next to everything she would own even after death.
