She always knows when I have her Shakespeare.
Can tell by the words I write,
and the ones I keep to myself.
Aware that the counting of crows
mark the end of a relationship,
real or imagined.
She loves me best when I don't need her.
The hard part is always mine to keep.
If I can't find her for a month,
I know where she is.
Hiding her own hard part
beneath the covers of pain.
And when she returns,
there is light shining behind
her iridescent joy.