Wine and the eleventh hour.

She walks this slight path.
Leaning towards death or happiness.
There's no in between.
The sun creeps up on her every morning caressing her with love or so that's what she tells herself.
She let it all go.
The pain, heartache, false promises.
They all mean nothing.
They fade away as the moon takes the place of the sun.
It's all going to be okay she realizes.
Saying this with great belief.
She loves herself with great sadness and devotion.
Just like she worships the men that hurt her.
But that's not it.
It's not the point of my story.
All I want to say is that love comes from within.
It'll always grow from within and going outward.