In love, I found rest when in the cold mornings my body lay bare in some incoherent fear. In love, I discovered continuous anxiety, eternal waiting, unusual uncertainty, renewed hope. In love, I countered my principles, abandoned my maxims, went on to build a different world, and lost my logic and soul. It fades today in remembrance— the madness of subjugating myself abstracted into each other's sleep. The ancient skins of infinite nights return and my verse is transcribed daily and monotonous. Love covered my fatigue in adventure, now the empty routine of hope in the universe.
# In Love I am in love with the way light falls through the window at dawn, how it paints the floor in rectangles of gold. I am in love with the sound of rain on tin roofs, that persistent drumming that says: *someone is here, someone is listening.* I am in love with the space between words— where meaning breathes, where silence becomes a conversation. I am in love with the crease in your forehead when you're thinking, the way your fingers trace the rim of a cup, absent, tender, alive. I am in love with the forgetting that comes with sleep, how each morning we wake as if for the first time, new, astonished, free. I am in love with the ordinary— the bread rising in the oven, the way dust catches fire in an afternoon beam, the small mercy of a day that passes without catastrophe. I am in love with impermanence itself, knowing nothing stays, everything dissolves, and still— still— we love.
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