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Poem

In this world, love does not find its place,
It is born with hope, but soon it shatters,
Withering in the waiting rooms of the soul,
Choking in messages that never arrive,
Dying slowly, in silence, when no one is watching.
What remains scatters into stories,
Written by those who were never chosen,
They stitch their ruin into silent verses,
Carving their names into deep pains,
And dress their sorrow as if it were destined beauty.
Love never stays in hands,
It finds no place even in hearts,
So they bury it in immortal pages,
Where no one leaves and nothing is forgotten,
A sanctuary of unfading memory and lost dreams.
Through lines of ink, hope becomes eternal,
In a universe of words where time does not wound,
Where every tear transforms into stars,
And every wish rises like a silent song,
In the silence of the pages, love finds refuge.
In a space of silence where echoes do not fade,
Love lives like a phantom dancing among letters,
Where souls find solace in memories,
And in every story, love is rewritten always,
Like an eternal dream of those who never give up.

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