Books hold stories, wisdom deep,
But love’s essence they can’t keep.
In pages worn with ancient tales,
The love we have now often pales.
In pages filled with memories and dreams,
Love gets lost in the past’s old schemes.
The wisdom there can make us blind,
To the love that’s right here, we often find.
We read of truths that others wrote,
But love’s real touch is not in those notes.
It’s found in moments fresh and bright,
Not in pages of black and white.
So let go of books and just be here,
In the present where love is clear.
For love is felt in every breath,
Not in old tales, but in the present moment’s depth.
But love’s essence they can’t keep.
In pages worn with ancient tales,
The love we have now often pales.
In pages filled with memories and dreams,
Love gets lost in the past’s old schemes.
The wisdom there can make us blind,
To the love that’s right here, we often find.
We read of truths that others wrote,
But love’s real touch is not in those notes.
It’s found in moments fresh and bright,
Not in pages of black and white.
So let go of books and just be here,
In the present where love is clear.
For love is felt in every breath,
Not in old tales, but in the present moment’s depth.
