He entered the room accompanied by a feeling I didn’t recognize
The feeling sensed my bemusement and sang me a breathtaking song
For want of another word I called this feeling love. For want of a better word, because love can be fragile, subject to fear and hope and drawn conclusions
I named it love and opened the gates to my heart that it may be safe. It came inside and curled up.
It sings sometimes in the day.
Sometimes at night.
As the days pass I sense there is something askew in its weight and lustre
So I watch this love closely, for I now suspect it is in fact a nameless thing more exquisite still.