# As We Are Not Alike We are not alike, you and I, like two flowers that bloom on the same branch but never touch. You are the silence between two heartbeats, I am the sound that fills it. You move like water, finding your way around stone— I am the stone itself, unmoved, unyielding. Your words are soft as dusk, mine arrive like morning, sharp and unavoidable. We are not alike, the way winter is not summer, the way the moon refuses the sun's brightness, the way roots never meet the clouds. Yet here we are, bound by something that has no name, walking parallel paths that somehow lead to the same door.

I probably love you differently.
Not the way you imagined.
But I am what I am, and...that's how I love.
Quieter. Deeper. Into oblivion.

And I won't be standing here
when I'd serve you grand dramas.
I keep everything folded in my heart.
It's love, you know...we don't know.

And yes, it's foolish of me not to prove it
with hollow fanfare,
bright on the surface, emptiness underneath.

For me, love is...sacred.
The rest is wind and mist...
It blooms wildly, then it fades...
And I don't believe that's love.

Love is what persists
even when spring has gone,
even when the bright flowers
rest silent and dead in the earth.
Love endures. And it glows upon them.

And no, I'm not waiting for you to understand.
I've long known we are not the same—
different people from different worlds.
And still it's supposed to be love...And it's different...