They say "I love you,"
But how am I supposed to know when they do and when they don't?
Isn't loving someone
Like the sparkling starry nights,
Like the mama birds returning to their nests with food for their little ones at night,
Like the old man who combs his wife's hair in the daylight,
Like the newborn's attachment to its mother,
Like the flying bird in cold weather,
Determined to find its partner.
Like the buds that grow to be a rose,
To be given to someone to propose.
Like the young couple’s fights and frowns.
How his sadness is hers, and they're each other's everything else.

But how does the love we try to find
Turn into the love we make, and it’s all about it?
Is it just the physical touch,
Or something deeper we can't fake?
Something so unbelievably magical,
Like riding unicorns with glittery wings
Through clouds named nine.

Where I can take him to be mine,
From where he can't leave like all the others did or (like fate forever entwined).
I haven't found him yet, but I will.
And even if I don't,
I have myself to love me still.

But oh, how I’d love to grow old with him,
Watching our little ones run around here and there,
Who are half me and half him.
In the home we create and build it with love.
Talking about the things that made us laugh
While we have no teeth.
Telling the coming generations about the love we had, saying we love each other still.

And when our time has passed,
May our love story be the guiding light—
The answers we searched for in our darkest nights.
A testament to the purest kind.

May they never feel alone, and see
The single thread weaving all around:
The stitches, the patterns it has been making.
The invisible string tying everything together beyond time.

For in the end, it’s not what we find,
But what we nurture inside, deep within our minds.

But how am I supposed to know it’s time
To nurture love for someone who may or may not be mine?