We are strolling, barefoot, when we pass a gaunt garden admid the parking lots. I, ahead of you, see her first: a small withering flower nestled safe within her leaf walls. A brief glace of her inward disposition and battered state rise my compassions; instantaneously I'm identifying with her desire to hide away unnoticed, as to not disappoint expectant onlookers. After such thought and feeling, I move to continue walking, making no mention of my bosom flower, safe within leaves I wish were my own. And yet, upon noticing her, you slow and say, "Oh, no need to give up. It truly isn't so terrible..." And look to me for affirmation, tying a tiny verbal question mark to your closing remark: "all she's needing is some motivation." Inwardly I add, "...and someone to have faith in her."
it's wet pavement under your barefeet.
