the work of time.
a slow, strange unfolding.
how much time could pass...
'till that one day,
time became a simple story,
a long, bitter-sweet history.
a symbol of grace, upon her chest.
no more words could be said.
except, three, a vow said many times,
said only from one mouth,
three words, never misunderstood,
only reciprocated from another's eyes, smile,
and a napkin a long, long time ago.
and one day,
all this time came to an end.
she conceded it was time,
and time to start a new story.
the folds of time, now, all close as one.
this time, with all her love,
(more than you can ever imagine)
the very best she could.