Love does not dwell in an embrace,
nor in words spoken at the wrong time.
It is a secret traveller,
hiding in the shadow of a gesture,
sliding between laughter and tears,
weaving stories, stitching lives together.
You will not find it in empty promises,
nor in lips that seek the ineffable;
it is a whisper dancing in the breeze,
a story that no one is capable of telling.
It is the spark that ignites the evening,
the silent sigh between two,
a footprint in the sand of time,
a corner that is felt, without a voice.
Love is a river that flows,
unhurried, hidden in its course,
a refuge in the calm of the soul,
an embrace that never happens.