Love is rarely just one thing. Sometimes it’s tender. Sometimes it’s unspoken. Sometimes it aches without reason. These poems—like the ones before them—exist in the in-between. In the quiet corners where longing lives. In the space between reaching out and holding back. Each piece stands on its own, but together they form a quiet constellation of feeling—unresolved, imperfect, and deeply human.
There’s no single story here. Just moments. Glimpses. The kind of love that lingers long after it’s named. Whether in the asking, the silence, or the remembering—these words are what remain when the feeling is too big for explanation.
