Portrait

She speaks in a foreign language. She thinks in a foreign languge. Yet, her feelings are rooted in her mother's tongue. Maybe that's why she rarely uses it. She might lose her way if she did. She might lose herself in the foreign land where she's spent more than two thirds of her life. Or so she fears.

She strives for control and thus misses out on chances to enjoy. She is loving, warm and loyal. She keeps to herself and won't allow you inside her house. She looks through a peep-hole as if hiding from something. Maybe her own dreams.

She doesn't like risks and adores a good cup of coffee.

When she laughs, the world around her lights up. When she sings -even when she merely hums- your heart brims with tenderness. She'd rather cough than cry.

I didn't get to see her tears but once. I wish I could have eased her pain.

I loved her. Sometimes it hurt.