Once, I found a piece of paper
in a parking lot, bright white
fresh, as if just dropped there
by accident.
It was a note, addressed, “My Love”
and nothing more.
Either it was the shortest
love letter ever penned
or the author could only
transliterate what they felt.
I understand that
sometimes, love is not about
words, but more about
action
like impassioned eyes glancing
across a room
at the object of their affection
or, a touch so tender
that it electrifies all your senses,
becoming a part of you
melting into your soul.
I only hoped that whoever
wrote it would be able to experience
what I knew to be

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