It had been a long time since she had struggled to fall asleep
Her poor brain though to much of things that did not belong in her head
Things she had not thought in a while
Her heart was sore and her spirit weary
But her eyes so wide open they were like the wings of a hawk
Though she did not feel much like flying
She was low.
Not as low as she had been before, but still there she was, laying in the ground.
I will caution you, a heart is a delicate thing to hold.
Even more delicate to keep it in your chest, for many will try to rip it out of its cage.
There is life, and light even among the darkest of deaths, and truth in the boldest face lies.
Yet you do not return to me as you were before.
Innocent.
Though I am the same, I am pulled.
In the same direction as I have been many times before.
Yet this time I do not struggle, for the same wind blows against different sails and the same flames fuel the fires that did mine.
We are the same, but not one.
And I am sorry, that that is allowed.
Because the water held by the bucket could so easily quench the thirst; and the oars could just as quickly bring the boat to a different shore.
A lass that is not the way things are, nor the way they have ever been, as they should be.

You have been found lacking.

I am moved to tears when I see the spontaneous goodness of a person’s heart
that at times is surely lacking in many people of the world which we’re a part.
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