The Abyss

She’s the kind who remembers the little things
Who speaks in glances and gives in gestures,
never halfway, never afraid of depth.
She never feared love—only what it could take.
With trembling hands and cautious hope,
She opened the door once more.

and so, the poet fell in love once again.
Plummeting further, deeper.
But to be loved by a poet is to be loved endlessly.
So, she loved unapologetically,
At times painfully,
Though never regretfully.