Is there a love unseen, unnamed, unknown,
or is it only born in dreams we keep?
In a world weighed down by things we own,
can something so pure still dare to breathe?
or is it only born in dreams we keep?
In a world weighed down by things we own,
can something so pure still dare to breathe?
Movies paint it soft in glowing light,
novels let it live beyond all fear.
But does such love walk in our real nights,
or stay confined to stories we revere?
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