The words of the poet were discarded without a single moments glance, flipped over and shoved aside as if it wasn’t there. Her stanzas were ambiguous: one side was thoughtful and meaningless, but underneath was a plead for any form of help. She hid behind pen names, too scared to show her tiger striped scars. She never thought there would be help, sometimes the sadness felt too good for that, but the day that he replied with his own words changed her viewing. A blossom, a mere prickle touched her aching mind and she was graced with the happiness that only came in her dreams. His name was fake, of course, but she saw his meaning underneath. She replied, a single sheaf of paper with tiny words scribbled on it, sent through the world. Hope grew, twisting and turning and coiling into something... other. He replied with a smile, a loop and a fragment. She was saved.