That first night she saw him again,
far across from any words
that might've crossed the distance
between each other and the sky.
That first night, and he asked,
flippantly concerned.
"You look older than I've seen you
in months," he said, his hand reaching out
while his arm kept her away.

And she choked on her sobs,
dancing away just beyond his grasp.
"There's only so much a soul can go through,"
she said, her eyelids slipping tight over green orbs,
protective of the soul within.
And when she forced them open,
coated with moisture,
another safety feature
blurred.
"There's only so many personal scars
shaped by truths lived only second-hand
that a soul could endure.
But you know; you have the same
crisises of faith that I do.
Is it really that far-fetched
to expect you to understand?"

He shook his head
free of thought
and "No. But we
always have questions, don't we?
We already know the answers,
but we're just looking for confirmation.
So what's the matter?"

"I am nothing,"
she said...
"I am nothing
and can never be. And
that's painful. Who I was,
that's painful too."
And she brushed her eyelashes
against her cheeks
and merely whispered "I just want to go home."