It was a quiet love, a tacit love. It came without prelude or preamble. We never said the word love–we didn’t have to. It was in our laughter, in the sense of wonder we found in each other. And if we had doubts then, time has told us otherwise.
It was a gentle love, a tactile love. It was all hands and lips and hearts in tandem. There was motion in our bodies and emotion in our discourse. We were a symphony of melody and melancholy. When you find peace in another’s presence, there is no mistaken.
It was a kind love, a selfless love. I was an explorer and you were a traveller. We met at the crossroads. I saw love in your smile and I recognized it for the first time in my life. But you had a plane to catch and I was already home.
Like this poem? Read more in Lang Leav's book Memories, available here.