Beyond The Rhyme

No needle, no loom, no spool of bright thread, Yet something unseen binds the paths we have tread. Not woven of silk, nor of gold, nor of lace — It’s a tapestry stitched in the quietest space. It begins with a glance, a smile softly shared, A joke that erupts when no one else cared. From strangers to something much greater, much more — A thread pulled so gently it’s hard to ignore. There’s magic in moments that seem so mundane — The midnight confessions, the walk in the rain. The songs that you sing when no one is near, The laughter that bursts without reason or fear. It isn't the grand things that anchor it tight, Not glittering parties or spotlights so bright. It's popcorn in silence and tea going cold, The warmth of a voice when the world feels too cold. They are there when you falter, your feet in the dirt, No questions, no judgment, no need to assert. Their silence says more than a thousand loud words, Like the hum of the air when it’s brushed by small birds. Sometimes, yo...