Now that the stars no longer sigh,
And heaven has breathed its final why,
They meet — not as strangers bound by fate,
But as echoes returning through the timeless gate.
No questions left for lips to form,
Their silence speaks in a softer storm.
Not fire nor wind — but breath aligned,
Two spirits merged, beyond mankind.
She, a hymn in flowing light,
He, a dusk that kissed the night.
Together they moved in sacred spheres,
Not chasing dreams, but shedding fears.
His voice, a flute of wind on stone,
Her gaze, a prayer he’d always known.
No past to claim, no name to bear,
Just presence pulsing everywhere.
The world around them blurred and bent,
The stars grew still, the moment spent
In tasting joy so purely spun,
The moon forgot there was a sun.
But love — true love — is never still,
It flows through valleys, climbs each hill.
It doesn’t rest in union’s glow,
It grows where deeper rivers go.
So once the rapture's veil grew thin,
They heard a whisper stir within:
"You are not yet done, nor fully known—
The tree is touched, but not full-grown."
For love, they learned, is not a place,
Not just a dance, nor one embrace.
It is a path, a sacred thirst,
To meet the self — and find it first.
So hand in hand, they took the flame,
No longer asking “who?” or “name.”
Beyond the joy, beneath the ache,
They walked to where the old selves break.
And in that quiet, trembling air,
They found a temple — not “out there.”
It was the space between each breath,
The birth that hides inside each death.
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