The White Horse With A Pink Saddle

 

She asks me for nothing.
I give willingly.

 

How many times will I repeat to myself “I don’t care!” before it becomes true?
How much do I need to say “it doesn’t matter.” until I forget that it does, terribly?

 

I ask her with no compassion,
look at her with beady eyes.
She is my muse.

 

The others think me cruel.
It’s none of that.
I just have no emotional involvement.
Can you see the difference?

 

She asks me for nothing.
I give her that.

 

She asks me for everything.
I’ve given more than either of us can handle.

 

05:12 AM Tuesday, February 16 2016. All is well.

I never forgot the way I looked at her and didn’t blink.

“Good Morning. How did you sleep?”

 

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