You find her beautiful now.
If only you had seen her before the war,
before the light in her eyes became fear
at the violent hand of every man to blaze through her path.
Her ghosts forget nothing,
even if you catch the remnants of her former self
in a weak smile or feigned laugh.
Excuse her coldness.
She is still learning how to forgive her wrath.
She cannot stop running away
from the singed holes in her armor,
formed when she lets their shallow apologies
near its surface for too long.
When she hesitates to touch you, understand why.
If you cannot understand, spend a hundred midnights
questioning your overconfident sense of intimacy.
You are not ready for her if you think you are.
You cannot touch her if you believe you can.
There is no romantic way
to approach her strengthening silhouette.
Heed my warning wisely.
You will know of her affections
when she and she alone decides to make them known.