Pictures Assembled From Memory

She holds tight her secrets, 
thinking no one will know,
from the smallest voice, 
to this current silence, 
that screams contempt, 
she holds them, 
thorns and all. 

She knows I see right through her, 
with her dagger stare, 
still I reach and she turns away, 
and I never really grow tired of looking for her smile, 
just like I promised her, 
when she used to run to me, 
instead of turning away. 

T. S. Deary
8/16-9/5/24