My foot brushed the railing, cold and bare,
The city below was unaware.
The Eiffel Tower, glowing bright,
The only witness to my quiet night.

They say at midnight, if you stare,
Love will find you unaware.
That under these lights, you’re destined to meet,
But I don’t believe in tales so sweet.

I laughed out loud, a bit too much,
At the thought of love’s magical touch.
But then a voice, smooth and deep,
Interrupted my lonely, cynical sweep.

"Who laughs like that, when the world is still?
Do you mock the stars, or test their will?"
I turned around, caught off guard,
A man stood there, with a smile—hard.

Tall, calm, with eyes that gleamed,
As though he’d just stepped out of a dream.
His voice was warm, his presence light,
Like he belonged in this perfect night.

"I’m not laughing at the stars," I said,
"Just at the stories that fill my head.
Love at midnight, beneath the Tower,
It’s just a myth, it holds no power."

He chuckled, soft, stepping near,
"Is that what you truly believe, my dear?
That love is just a fleeting thought,
A pretty lie that can’t be caught?"

I shrugged, feeling something strange,
"I’ve never seen it. People change.
Love doesn’t last,it fades away,
Like a spark that can’t stay."

He paused, his smile fading slow,
"Maybe you’ve never seen it grow.
Love’s not a spark that dies in time,
It’s built on moments, small but prime."

I laughed again, but softer now,
"You speak like love’s a sacred vow.
But life’s not kind, love’s not real,
It’s just a game that makes you feel."

He shook his head, a gentle move,
"I think you’re wrong, if I may prove,
Love’s not a trick, or just a game,
It’s in the way...