The Nightingale

by Kristin Hannah

always thought it was what I wanted: to be loved and admired. Now I think perhaps I’d like to be known.

She wanted to bottle how safe she felt in this moment, so she could drink of it later when loneliness and fear left her parched.

Beauty was just another way to discount her, to not see her.

Let him think she was as safe as one could be. A coward.

Wounds heal. Love lasts. We remain.