Simplicity

Pluck.
Each and every string.
You know how, so well.
The words you say,
The moves you make.
You play me like a violin.
Or maybe a piano,
Your hands on my body,
Like a pianist at the ivories.
Or maybe your a hammer,
And my spirit is weak,
Like a wall built of dried mud.
I am not whole.
But this little lady has found,
That even in the dimmest of lights,
A book can be written.
A new character created.
One who, though imperfect,
Can be seen perfectly in comparison.
Simplicity.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
One who will embrace me,
As I am.
And support me,
While I reconstruct the walls
I let you tear down.
I crave that which you cannot offer.
Simplicity.
The word rolls off my tongue
Like a blaring 80's love ballad.
I would do anything for love,
But I won't do that.