The Lamp
That Remained
Nobody knows, in the beginning, what love has actually touched.
Nobody knows, in the beginning, what love has actually touched.
It arrives quietly. A person enters your life and nothing appears extraordinary from the outside. Traffic moves. Phones ring. Morning still becomes afternoon. Afternoon still becomes night.
But inside, something opens.
A room that had been closed for years opens without sound.
A song begins to hurt beautifully. A name, once ordinary, starts carrying weather. A face begins to follow you into silence. And slowly, without permission, life gathers around one presence.
Not because they did something miraculous. Perhaps they only looked at you in a way that made you feel less invisible. Perhaps they arrived at the exact hour when something hidden in you was waiting to be called back to life.
This is how the deepest attachments form.
Not with certainty.
NW.