Honeyed Pasture if i leave everything but my bones behind

She does not press, only watches, expression gentle, as he starts to unravel. Her shoulders remain in a tense line; she tries to soften them, not wanting to project something that he might pick up on, that might make him feel worse. 

When he begins to cry she draws barely closer, not to infringe upon his space but to offer the shape of something solid and affirming. "Most of us have," Poet tells him quietly, thinking of her conversation with Blondine not so long ago, "do you want to say what it was?" If anyone has experience in coping with committing sin, surely the blasphemer is top of the list. And this poor, fragile looking boy... well.

Perhaps that's what she looked like in the aftermath of her own mistakes.