How strange it all must be
To be so bitter and dissatisfied with life
“Is it really happening?”
The answer was always, always, yes.
If you had been in the arena
You had gone numb
And drunken
And weary
And if you had been locked away
You had gone mad
But she was there
With her hair
And her eyes
Like rain
Soft and strong
And through the night
Like water over stone
She smoothed
All the jagged edges


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