Love remains.

Staying, not like a stain, something to be pushed off, brushed away, cleaned

rather indwelling in a heart, but more than tissue,

feelings, or fleeting moments.

 

It stays, remains, as permanent as a memory inerasable,

indelible, but not written anyway, so you cannot see it,

But still it remains.

 

Waiting patiently for you to notice its presence.