It was sad but beautiful,
the ways she learned to cry.
How she learned not to use tears
to express how she truly felt.
How she picked up a pen
and rewrote her prayers and
redrew her dreams.
How simple lines and symbols
became the song that she sang
on the lonliest, coldest nights.
How spinning in her garden
in the summer sunlight became
her routine on the stage.
How pretending to be someone else
was the only way to discover
who she really wanted to be.
How getting lost in books
helped her to write her own story
without knowing how it would end.
And in her lack of tears
she found strength, a way to carry on
without dwelling on the past.
And instead of finding a hardened heart
she found pure, unwielding joy.