Drifting Tree

In ages carved by time and tide, where fleeting hearts would turn or hide, there walked two souls through storm and flame, who spoke not love—yet chose the same. For love, when young, is soft and bright, a fleeting spark, a gentle light— but tested love is forged in strain, through silent nights and whispered pain. When distance stretched its cold, long hand, and fate refused to understand, when words were lost, when timing bled— still neither heart in truth had fled. Again they chose, though worn and torn, again they stayed, though hope seemed gone. Not bound by ease, nor fleeting fire— but something deeper than desire. For what is love, if not the will to stand when all the world is still? To choose the same soul, time and time, through chaos, doubt, through flawed design. So mark it not as love alone— for many hearts have lightly known— but call it what the wise have named… a bond once broken—yet unchained. 🖤

- a course in miracles

You just need to prioritize being free.

— Joyce Carol Oates

— Rumi