Sonnet to a Friendly Critic

When did she lose touch with my inner heart?          
Was it so long ago she held it near?                  
It was so easy from the very start,
To share it all with one I love so dear.              

How can she thumb the pages of my life,
And find fault with the words at every turn?          
So easily she crosses out a line,
Ignoring all that from it she could learn.            

I smile, she smiles, but does not understand,
And she goes on, perusing through my soul;            
In just a moment I will take her hand,
And we may both yet smile as we grow old.            

Our love is strong, its long-fueled flame still burns,
But what is gone will never more return.