Perhaps love was never meant
to be understood.
Perhaps it was born
before language learned to name it,
before the universe
discovered how to distinguish
between a star and a soul.
And then I found you.
Not as one finds an answer,
but as one finds a forgotten truth
hidden beneath the ruins of existence.
You taught me
that happiness is not the absence of sorrow,
but the courage to let something beautiful
exist despite it.
For what is happiness
if not a temporary rebellion
against the inevitable?
A fragile moment
in which two imperfect beings
look at the infinite
and dare to believe
that this moment is enough.
I used to think
that love meant possessing eternity.
Now I understandLove is knowing
that everything ends
and choosing to cherish it anyway.
Your hand in mine
does not stop time.
Your voice cannot silence death.
Your presence cannot promise
that tomorrow will remain.
And yet I would still choose you.
Not because you make life eternal,
but because you make its mortality
worth experiencing.
Perhaps this is the deepest paradox
of human happiness:
We become afraid of losing
the things that make us happy,
yet it is precisely their fragility
that makes them precious.
So if the universe
ever asks me what happiness was,
I will not speak of paradise.
I will speak of you
and of the brief, miraculous moment
when two finite souls
met beneath an infinite sky
and, for a little while,
made existence feel
like something worth believing in.
OF MY POETRY JOURNAL TO SEAVIEN