She welcomed you with open arms. She listened, without judgement, and bore your worst secrets with you. She would have gone any length in your darkest moments to lift you up, had you let her. Not because you were special. Not because she loved you. Because that’s who she was.
She cares about people. It’s a rare talent.
She suspected that you were lying to her. But she cared, and she wanted you to know she wouldn’t abandon you or think less of you for whatever story you wanted her to believe. She acted like it was the truth, while hoping it was not.
She would have forgiven you if you’d have been honest, even if it meant that you weren’t who you had pretended to be.
One day you were gone, and she was distraught. They said you were dead. Sometimes, even now, she will close her eyes and imagine your arms around her shoulders. She hopes the real you, whoever that might be, is still alive.