A LOVE'S MONOLOGUE

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 Not a mystery, neither a fiction, what am I?


I can be felt but never touched, yet I can hold broken pieces together more tightly than any thread. Yet At times, I am the very reason those pieces fall apart. After all, am I not a fragile petal blooming through the thorns? I need no water, only the radiance of courage, to be seen beyond the shadows that conceal me.


You’ve heard me not in loudness, but in silence ,soft enough to be called whispers, whispers that gently drown out the storm of voices inside you. My echoes linger in empty corners, not as faint memories, but as moments you ache to relive. Moments that make you race against time, yet never leave you weary of the chase.


Look at your hands.Do you feel the weight? The weight of someone’s smile. The heaviest burden you’ll ever carry, and yet, the only one that lightens another’s load.

You can’t wear me as a crown, but I can weave you a fairytale where you reign in the kingdom of your own longing. Sometimes, I walk with you only for a few miles, not because I am lost, but so that you may learn to find me again, even in the vastness of darkness.

Do not think I vanish. For the unrequited, I live on in the unsent, the unheard, the unseen words. I race against time for the hands that once gripped thorns. I am both wound and healing.

So what am I? Am I to be called someone’s monologue? Or something far beyond?

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