Tossed black coins, bound by habitual expectations. Colourfully adornments paint cold expressions with a splash of sight's astonishments. Fear, ever timidly curtained behind by guards of facades. Angels vanish in howls of white surrender, abandoning all needy of them on earth. A place, where love ices next to a bonfire; a den, where love is unrequited.

Home is where the heart is. So they proclaim. Venial are blemishes of humanity, unexcusable are the cruel. Hers she keep, her lacuna. Home is nowhere found.

A ticket, in frivolous search for utopia. Keen faces she reconciles her soul with; familiar recallings she sanes herself to; felicity she bubbles herself in. Exploxions of daffodils and roses hug her at the ray of daylight, dulcet crickets and floating fireflies dancing to their proudest talents just for her.

Repel the infliction from her swollen eyes, lift the suppression within her tight chest, kiss her uptight chiselled lips, embrace her incessant fears, lead her where she needs to be, forgive her for past bad-doings and most of all, be her sturdy pillars against the break-upon of a tidal crash. Loved ones, provide her strength. Lord, grant her strength.