She turned to face him, taking his other hand. She wanted to say something meaningful then, something... special. Nothing came to mind, at least not anything that wasn't cliche. She watched his face, searching for words, and ended up reciting poetry.
"I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every hour holy.
I am too small in the world, and yet not tiny enough
just to stand before you like a thing,
dark and shrewd.
I want my will, and I want to be with my will
as it moves towards deed;
and in those quiet, somehow hesitating times,
when something is approaching,
I want to be with those who are wise
or else alone.
I want always to be a mirror that reflects your whole being,
and never to be too blind or too old
to hold your heavy, swaying image.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere do I want to remain folded,
because where I am bent and folded, there I am lie.
And I want my meaning
true for you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I studied
closely for a long, long time,
like a word I finally understood,
like the pitcher of water I use every day ,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that carried me
through the deadliest storm of all,"
Her voice was soft, but she knew he could hear her. She spoke slowly, making sure to pronounce each word carefully. It was a poem by Rilke that she had memorized long ago. It seemed like the right things to say.
