How many times has Catherine cried?

How many times has Catherine cried, in these days of deceit, betrayed by the arriving end of loneliness, struggling to hold her beauty in the dark recesses of her unspoken still heart, scratching the surface she never wanted to reach? I'm just a cold shaking child behind her throne, never part of her world, only a left over image, as dangerous as a falling leaf in an autumn poem, silent, like her tears. Oh, her hair, the way every soul she created for each dark line now shades her face, and tears seem to have come from far away, deep inside, where her true self has been waiting, so silently, so patiently, her true self has been loving her so painfully, accepting to be hidden ad chained, unable in actions, but not in feelings, and all this time she has loved Catherine, who chose not to love. Catherine, great as you wanted to be, don't fail for fear, don't be scared of frailty, should you fall and shatter, broken dreams will be reborn joining for your image to keep. Should you resist your own truth, turning blind your pure strength, your poetry, your children, will walk away, and hollow shell your image will be, only empty words will remain like falling feathers on your pale skin, dying in the cold touch of your everlasting stillness, 'cause dreams need to shatter when their glass surface becomes too cold and thick to let them breathe.

Don't believe in my words, they could be wrong. Don't look for me, I could shiver and turn to sand in your own hands by the power of your will. Turn around, I'll be where you'll want me to be, if there will be the place where my own childish day will have led my tiny steps.

Oh, I believe you wept, I believe you'll still claim your will to fade without a trace, but a path of tears will never be wiped away by it's own creator, so don't embrace your hollow hope, don't just sit and wait for your image to wither eternally and to burn up in searing white flames in the end of existence, leaving nothing but the scent of dark ashes. Embrace your darkest fear, the true cradle of every single tear, and Catherine's voice will gently lay on eternal winds in your own soul's universe, playing with light and darkness for the rest of your existence. Her voice will be yours to hear any time you'll desire as if she was near, everywhere, free as a child at home, and nevermore held in the prison where your true loving self awaits, with tears of beauty that never fall. How many times have you cried, dear Catherine?