Memoir of Love

It wasn’t Love at the first sight

It surely wasn’t.

For we left our drinks and fries

to the cold summer night

waiting for Time to save us

from the awkwardness of life

How did we meet

and not fall in love with words again?

I imagined every Love began with ballroom dance and magic pumpkin

and ended with a ballad and a touch to the lips.

I must have mistaken.

It wasn’t Love at the second sight

It surely wasn’t.

The day we were standing in front of a grave

of someone who was brave and loved,

of someone who asked us:

“Did speaking in silence

and kissing each other’s tears

finally mean something?”

our shadows were busy playing hide and seek

and chasing footsteps of ghosts

and questions we were afraid to face.

We went home

full of remorse

then promised to write each other letters tomorrow

but tomorrow never came.

It wasn’t Love at the third sight

It surely wasn’t.

As our feet walked past the coast,

with stillness echoing behind,

we found ourselves softly muttering:

“Were we too in love with Pride and not with Love itself?”

So, for the first time in our life, drop the mask,

hold my hand and slow dance to the fire.

Let the masquerade burn and

bury me where Dante abandoned his dreams.

The Devil wouldn’t mind,

knowing Love came without pretense

and mended a hole in his soul.

It wasn’t Love at the fourth sight

or fifth, or sixth, or seventh,

or more.

But I did find Love

in these dark times,

in this prayer,

not in you nor me

but just in this little space between us.

I surely did.

For Love is not found in impermanence,

but in a place where infinite transcends.

Today I Would Like to Tell The Ocean about An Unexpected Love Story