Scribbles.

The boy came back, battered.

His tears shielded the pain in his eyes,

Just like his scars shielded his broken heart-

He went as a mockingbird,

Came back as a raven,

"Would you still love me when I'm worse?"

"I will", she said.

The boy came another day,

This time he brought a gift.

His scars were better.

He felt lesser pain.

"Do you still love me?", he asked.

"I do.", she said.

The boy came back again.

He was a different man now.

Confident. Manly. Eyes full of wisdom.

His years of rebellion came to days of faith,

His days of rage ended in nights of calm.

Even his occasional painful nights,

Ended in reading her letters.

"What if I hurt you someday?", he asked.

"I'll still love you", she said.

And then, just like he said,

He hurt her. Bad.

He didn't look into her eyes,

Because he couldn't.

However, she said,

"I do love you."

••••••

A calm breeze was blowing.

The boy was swaying a little.

The branch of the old tree was creaking a bit.

In the midst of nowhereland,

Surrounded by nothingness,

The boy remained hanging from a tree,

Like some discarded Atlas.

Quite the poet, he was.

••••••

The winds still asked her every night.

"Do you still love me? Because I don't."

"I do. I always will.", she said.