Delight

She can be heartless but this night, moved to pity, she came in a form of delight and told me a sad story. She's like that, a dichotomy, a paradox. No matter, light or dark, the story's the thing. She sits by my ear even now, impatient with my endless need for rest and distraction, she has more to tell me, more words to coax from my fingers. No matter that she was gone when I needed her, or that I tire, she demands and I obey.