One could almost imagine her sitting there, patiently, day after day, weaving. Webs she wove out of her own flesh. Afterwards, she would admire her own ingenious craftsmanship, watching those webs catch his thoughts as they came hurtling by. 

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Sometimes, she would look through his eyes, and wonder if he even knew of her existence. Through his eyes, she saw the different women that flitted through his life. And she recognized herself in those women as he struggled with his pain and sorrow. For she could take many forms. At times, innocent and coy. At times, a disheveled temptress calling from the depths of the sea. From caring, even protective, to ice and into demonic fury.

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She secretly hoped that one day he would roll back his eyes in their sockets; into his own head until he discovered those webs she had spun with care around his own thoughts. Then, she would appear to him, shining, like the Goddess of Wisdom herself - blinding him with a dazzling light for a brief moment. And that would be the day he would truly understand what it means to be a woman.