I have written a hundred lines

about love.

And still,

none of them touch the way

her voice bends the silence,

the way her hands know

how to undo me.

She is the reason I have not forgotten

how to dream,

how to want,

how to wake and see

that the world is still full

of things worth writing.

And if all I ever create

is a single line

that carries the weight of her—

then love,

that will be enough.