Maybe be he loved me because I was different each day.

On a blue summer day:

I am content in hearing the seagulls cry and the waves weep in rejoining the land

On a stark cold winter night:

I am blue as the night and cold as the snowflakes on the windowpane.

In between those seasonal days:

I stare at white washed walls

Blank of emotions

Contemplating the demise of my soul.

Soon there were so many of me,

A myriad of faces to place unto my blank soul

Too much of me to be one.

And as I created more of me to the seasons of life

With the dark days of contemplation in between

I did not know which one of my faces

He truly desired

And which he truly loved.