There is a heart beneath the hearts,
Where no candle burns, no voice dares sing—
It keeps the ache of unsent letters,
And the weight of words we never bring.

It mourns in moments no clock remembers,
And bleeds in places no scar will show.
It stitches itself with threads of silence,
And smiles while no one cares to know.

Yet in its quiet, it holds the universe,
The prayers unspoken, the dreams turned grey.
A heart like this—unknown, unseen—
Is where the brightest stars are born each day.