I have a faithful partner,
and she wears many a mask.
Sometimes, she wears a mask
of confidence.
She moves with a strong demeanor,
unafraid of what may be found,
or that this could be the last time.
The is the preferable one,
though not active always.
Sometimes, she wears a mask
of silence.
She stays focused on the
task at hand, never once
speaking a word.
Her weapon drawn, a calm essence.
This is the secondary function.
Sometimes, she wears a mask
of ice.
She locks everyone out,
holding every emotion at bay.
She is a cold statue,
made of hard stone.
No one can break her.
This comes with a betrayal, most often.
On the rarest of occasions,
the masquerade ends
in the middle of the night.
I find her on the floor,
tears falling like a river.
These are the long nights,
the ones where I comfort and soothe.
The ones were we sleep none,
and are weary.
Then, at dawn, the masquerade will begin again.