MY PAPER LOVE

Folded corners, creased with care,
A letter waits in midnight's lair.

Its breath is made of aged perfume,
Its voice is silent in the gloom.

Yet every mark, each curve and line,
Still murmurs: You were once mine.

Paper love, so frail and thin,
Bound by ghosts that live within.

A trembling page, a faded word,
The softest echo ever heard.

A pen had danced, so long ago,
Across this parchment, soft and slow.

You wrote to me when skies were gray,
When dreams and wars pulled us away.

Your hand, though far, still found my skin—
In every ink stroke drawn within.

You called me dear, you signed in tears,
You mailed your heart across the years.

Pressed between two pages still,
A rose, now dry, once bent to will.

You’d sealed it there with wax and flame,
A living token with my name.

The color’s gone, the scent is too,
But memory clings like morning dew.

We spoke in letters, not in breath,
In paragraphs that danced with death.

When distance stretched its bitter rope,
We tied each word with threads of hope.

Our silence broke through every seal,
And made the written word feel real.

Oh, paper love—how strong you were,
To brave the tide, the time, the blur.

Not bound by screen or fleeting text,
But inked in passion, pain, and next.

You bore the storms, the fire, the sea,
Yet never ceased to carry me.

My trembling hands unfold the past,
Each note a spell you made to last.

In candlelight, your voice returns,
And in my chest, the fire burns.

Though you are gone, and years have passed,
These paper hearts beat just as fast.

So write, I say, and never stop—
Though tongues may falter, pens still talk.

For what is love, if not the art
Of binding soul to fragile heart?
And what is time, if not the space
That letters cross in love’s embrace?

Paper love, you made me whole,
You stitched a song into my soul.

Though ink may fade and pages bend,
A letter lives beyond the end.

And somewhere, still, your script I see—
You loved, you wrote, you waited…
me.