Even after these seven long years have passed, the face of love remains unchanged. As if there's nothing new left to say or show!
Love is still, any given day, the day I wake thinking of you, and spend it carrying that thought's echo in my head.
The sleep that brings you in dreams— that sleep itself is love.
When I see your face in the first light of day, that sacred light's name is love.
Whether tomorrow will be good or bad— to push that worry from my mind and lose myself in your night-dark eyes... that too is love.
When sun breaks through the curtains, the feeling of seeing you in that soft morning light is love.
On winter nights, holding you close, trembling endlessly while searching for warmth, losing ourselves— that occasion itself is love.
When my tears, each time, soak the grave's earth, grass, flowers, leaves... even then, lying there disheveled for so long, waiting for you...that too is love.