Her Faults

I saw her faults
But that's not what they were.
They were her quirks,
Her way of coping,
Her inability to trust,
And her disposition
To all the pain
She knew before me
And because of me.

I call them faults
Because she did.
But... That's not what they were.
They were her memories,
Her tragedies,
Her hardships,
And her expectations.

She was not these things.
And these were not faults.
They were a side of her
That was still sensitive.
A reminder of how things were
And more than that
A reminder of how anything
In her life
Could repeat the path
That she had already walked down.

It was her beautiful sadness
It was her perseverance
It was her won experience
It was her terrible strength
And everywhere she saw a possibility
Of just how wrong things could go again
I wanted to show her
How wrong she was
That sometimes life
Finds a way to remind you
To hope again.

She called these faults.
I called these what they were.
They were her marks of courage.
Her memory of times gone right
Before going wrong.
They were her hope before sadness
And her beliefs before painful memories.

These were the furthest thing from her faults.
These were one thing
And only one thing.

These were her.