“It’s February 13. Tell me something above love,” she prodded. 

Love’s in the seconds,
And also those decades.

Love’s in those moments of calm, 
And also those fits of rage.

Love’s grandiose,
And also simple.

Love’s mirth,
And also poignant. 

Love’s in passion,
And also those shy glances.

Love’s the spoken word,
And also those unspoken letters.

Love’s an embrace,
And also in letting go. 

Love’s fleeting,
And also permanent.

Love’s symphony,
And also chaos.

Love’s in the squeals of laughter,
And also those tender drops of tears.

Love’s stillness, 
And also restlessness.

Love’s a song,
And also a dance.

Love’s prose, 
And also poetry.

Love’s contagion,
And also a vaccine.

Love’s an open heart,
And, an open heart.

He finished and they both looked at each other. A smile on her face. And a smile on his. It was now February 14. But pray, how did it matter? They had open hearts, after all. 


 

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Kunal

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