I suppose that when fear guide your way even the tiniest tremble shall remain scattered.
Honesty in its purest form matters not when silence leaves it's painful mark.
In solace and in quiet contemplation she suffers through the ache. Shakespeare wrote it most beautifully "unknown and known too late"
She even carved a name into steel, now it seems that the troubles are far from resolved and songs lost a valuable meaning.
She always seem to gaze over her left shoulder, searching in the distance for some hope that ever so slightly will never leave her side. A trusted companion that suffers with her.

I'll write some words for her and hope to dissolve the longing...
Some...