The Heart's Ledger

In the algebra of love, there are no losses—
Only investments in moments that shaped us,
Like river stones, smoothed by time's gentle passes,
Each groove and hollow telling tales that made us.

I remember the letters I wrote at midnight,
Perfumed pages torn from an earnest soul,
The flowers pressed between books, now brittle-bright,
And words that spilled like wine from an overfull bowl.

Some say I gave too much, loved too freely,
Wore my heart like a banner in the wind.
But every tear shed was a seed planted deeply,
Every...