She loved him. With everything she had ever held sacred in the most hidden part of her kept in secret for the moment she saw the heart she recognized in a man she didn’t know.

She knew the parts of him holding that beautiful heart were damaged and raw, barely scarred over, injuries still seeping pain. So she loved him.

He was drawn to the warmth of her in moments he considered weakness, and held her love tightly to himself until the fear of it caused him to toss her away from him like a small boy would cast a favorite teddy bear into the far corner in a fit of rage. And there she’d remain, quietly loving him until he’d reach out  and pull her back to him in remorse.

He hurt her. Over and over.

So she loved him.

He would call her heart into the open with glimpses of the truth of him so deeply buried. Then he would mock her, cutting at her to prove to them both that she wasn’t strong enough to stay. He would rant at the softness of her that surrounded him and paint for her pictures of all the women before her of greater beauty, fame and perfection that he’d held before her and cast aside. He told her she wasn’t special, that there was nothing between them worthy of mention.

So she loved him.

He spoke of his accomplishments and his place in the world so she would see she had no place with him. He thought he was using her when in fact her eyes were clear and her heart and time were freely given. He thought he was on top of the game she wasn’t playing. He needed her to love him and made every effort to prove to them both that it would not be.

So she loved him.

He kept her in her place so he didn’t have to let her in. He built walls with words to destroy any hope of true connection. He used her emotions against her in an effort to turn her away.

But she remained, and she loved him still.

He made himself distant and uninvolved so she could feel her lack of importance to him. If he accidentally showed his true heart he would place a distance between them until he was sure she wouldn’t acknowledge it aloud. Her love for him made him uncomfortable and distressed. He didn’t want her to love him but he needed it in a way that frightened him for the potential of further injury.

So she just kept loving him, giving the best parts of herself that she had to offer.

She refused to budge from her position of uncompromising devotion to the gold in the heart of him. And there she remains, unshakeable in her courage to love a heart defended by the lies he tells himself to remain safe in his fear of disillusionment.

She remains, immoveable in her commitment to the heart he guards from the world.

She remains.

And she loves him.

Still.