I don’t carry it in my hands—
they grow tired, they let go.
I carry it in the quiet places,
where breath slows
and truth stays.

It lives in moments that never asked to be saved:
a look that lingered,
a name said softly,
the way the world felt possible
just because you existed in it.

Time tried to thin it out.
Distance tried to rename it.
Life tried to bury it under days and duties.
None of it worked.

This love learned how to travel light.
No demands.
No noise.
Just presence.

It walks with me into every tomorrow,
not asking to be chosen,
only remembered.

Not a wound.
Not a weight.
A compass.

Some loves end.
Some fade.
This one doesn’t ask permission from time.

It simply stays.