She wasn’t a saint, but she was innocent,
Of all the mistakes she had made
And could make
She was afraid of the answers of the questions she could never ask, unless she would lose her saintly farce.
She was afraid of the gender to which she could forsake her innocence or find sincere happiness.
She was scared of being second place, although that was a position that was now commonplace.
She was scared of sin and of her faults that just could not be seen.
She was terrified of prides lost and weaknesses found;
Yet in all these, she was just being human and thus, was being profound.