She always signed her letters with love...
Never her name.
Just that four letter word settled neatly beneath lines of graceful script.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Just love.
Somehow it fit.

Maybe it was because no one knew her name,
And maybe they didn't care to.
A youthful beauty so unlike any other
But also blessed
With wisdom far beyond her tender years.
They knew her face...
Her violet eyes and ebony hair.
But her heart was a mystery
Left to those with too much time to waste.
But maybe she wanted it that way.

A few saw her as an angel
Still in the wake of innocence,
But leaning on the edge of losing
That which made her seem so young.
But she never saw it coming.
And gave her heart freely away,
Until it was returned in a weakened state.
Beaten and bruised.

The stains of tears grew ever-evident on her face,
And traces of sleepless nights.
But a smile struggled through
Somehow still beautiful
Even after much of the light was gone.

The days passed away to months
And she was still alone.
But she was fine that way.
Until the warmth of summer drew him close
And put her back into his arms.
All over again.
For a little while, at least.
When the leaves faded away,
They took that love with them.
She found herself once more holding a heart
That did not look like her own.
But knowing it was,
Because of the name that was written there.

Her wings have vanished with the snow.
But so many others still wish to have her.
Somehow, she doesn't want them.
Not for now.
She wishes to be alone
But still secretly dreams of romance.
And the someday when the frozen months pass on.
When her heart is new.
Not even she knows why she has become this way.
But she wishes she did.
So tired of spreading her pain
To others.
Solitary she still cries sometimes.
And she doesn't sign her letters with love anymore.