Love never ceases, never dies—
It merely changes its meaning.
If the bond was true, the strings remain,
Shifting her shape and form.
It starts with passion,
Shrouded in commitment,
Passing through the barriers of reality,
And in the end, it rests in solidarity.
Just because they no longer meet,
No longer speak,
Doesn't mean love is gone;
Perhaps it has shifted to a new colour.
Think of it as a book—
Some become epic tales and novels,
While others pause in the middle,
Not as an end but a short story.
So in truth, you never failed at love—
You simply haven't finished it yet.
One can stop, take a break,
Offering a chance to write something new.