She was, is, and always will be a mystery. I sought to decipher her, I thought I could understand. At times, she must have thought me pretentious, of course. Only a fool could have such pretension. In the end, it was never about the mystery; I loved what I knew. I knew there was much more than I could know. Yet, I loved what I knew. At many moments, I was afraid, whether in the mystery or in the known; She was a challenge. But how could it not be? What work of art doesn't challenge you before you can appreciate its beauty? In Her, I saw eternity; I could face the beauty of the divine. I felt that with a single touch, She could heal any pain. A single word and I would be saved, a single look and I would be happy. I remain pretentious, because I claimed to be saved by Her. Sometimes I became angry, not with Her; I'm not capable. I became angry with the life that insisted on taking me from Her. Accept it, Her decision is not mine, only Her, and nothing else. At some point I accepted it, but I couldn't let her go. She is the mystery, the pain, and the cure.