She loved too much or she didn’t love at all,

She loved too much or she didn’t love at all,

Had you been following her you’d have seen that she left a piece of herself wherever she went,

She mingled too much or she didn’t mingle at all,

Had you ever had the chance of meeting her you’d have noticed that she approached people with great caution, deciding where you’d fit, if, at all, you’d fit,

She talked too much or she didn’t talk at all,

Had you belonged to her circle you’d have noticed how she went from chattering unstoppably to measuring every word she spoke to seeming totally unable to comprehend the linguistic skills,

She had lived too much, felt too much, been too much of almost everything. She had now reached a point where she would pick up the things that were cast off, disowned, destroyed and broken. She would pick them up and love them, find meaning in them and find, within her depth, a seed of love that she had never thought possible to have been sowed in human heart.

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