Love Poems Novels & Stories

I sat on her lap, smelling her perfume, listening to her softly recite this poem: For glance beget ogles, ogles sighs, sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter. At first, I didn't know the meaning of the poem, but I thought its rhythm was beautiful. Every time my mother read this poem, she would smile gently, as if immersed in some kind of happy memory. My father would repeat the poem with her in a low voice, and they would look at each other and feel their love with just one look. As I grew up, I came to understand the poem.

The light breathed love. The love was the movement. And it flowed. The rhythm. The spaciousness. The completeness. The all. Always. The cursed wolf breathed love. The light breathed love. Love was the movement. And it flowed. In every fleeting moment. In every quiet pause. In every open chest. The manor breathed love. The garden breathed love. The light breathed love. In the hush. In the fleeting. In the boundless. And that was the essence. The one that endured.