Beloved
She finished her writing, she thought
She loved to write... and write..and write.
She loved to greet the poem, lovingly
"Poésie de ma vie!", cordially she wrote once.
During her sleep, she was neither happy nor calm
She saw a beloved face, utterly deformed, wounded
The face she loved most , is almost unrecognizable
She wanted to hold her, but could not do anything.
Agitated, anxious, she woke up in the middle of the night.
She remembered, that she had a new medicine added to the list.
She could hold on fully knowing the inevitable placebo effect.
In the middle of the night, she was suddenly certain about her mind.
And for the first time in a long time, her mind was not playing tricks on her!
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