She sat.
Curled up tightly.
Confused by an intangible pain.
She was endeavoring to be capable alone.
Descrying her need,
he enfolded her warmly.
Quietly.
Her tears soaked into his sleeve.
Sometimes love is knowing when to comfort and hold her.
Sometimes love is letting her conquer pain on her own.
(Poem #1 in the "Forms of Love" series is about holding someone who's in pain, with your arms or with your intention).
Truth