She who reconciles the ill-matched threads of her life
And weaves them gratefully into a single cloth
It's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
And clears it for another celebration
Where the one guest is you.
In the softness of the evening
It's you she receives.
You are the partner of her loneliness,
The unspeaking center of her monologues
With each disclosure you encompass more
And she stretches beyond what limits her,
To hold you.
Rilke
