One day she will write. She will write that passage that explains it all, that does justice to every tear. She will write it with that pen she could never find, and on a piece of paper which wasn't already filled with randomness that was put away once before, only to find it now unfinished, though full with words, her mind remains blank, yet her hand keeps writing. Unveiling her thoughts.
Didn't you always want to know her thought? What was beyond the silence that kept her so busy? She feared she would disappoint you if she unveiled them to you, yet she kept writing. It made so much sense in her head, but struggled to put it into words for you, so she wrote it. And the words became blurred, smudged by the tears, they no longer made any sense, but the meaning remained, hidden. Would you have ever understood them, when you never understood her?
Is it a poem? is it a passage? Is it clever? is it deep? Is it for you or is it for Him?
Just Let her be, let her write, let her be angry, sad, lost in the words, let her go, and then let her return back to you again.
And although her words are never perfect, and although they are unfinished, and even though they are smudged and blurred, and that you may never understand them, remember, they still have meaning, hidden. Just like her. She still has meaning...