If love is timeless,
let it arrive in its purest essence,
unencumbered by antiquated sorrow,
unblemished by the fallacies
of those who mistook affection
for an occasional convenience.
Let it be luminous.
Let it be audacious.
Let it possess the quiet fortitude
of two souls
who have learned the distinction
between infatuation and devotion.
Call it real.
Not the beguiling spectacle
of fleeting admiration,
nor the frivolous promises
that dissipate
with the evening breeze.
I speak of love
with substance,
with candor,
with the exquisite dexterity
to remain tender
when life becomes less accommodating.
A love that does not equivocate
when the heart asks for clarity.
A love that knows
the sanctity of consistency.
There is something profoundly sensual
about being recognized
without explanation.
The gentle persuasion
of your fingers finding mine,
the warmth of your breath
against my shoulder,
the unspoken cogency
of two hearts
no longer bewildered
by the possibility of being cherished.
How splendid
to be loved without ambiguity.
How delicious
to experience affection
without having to adjudicate
every silence.
And let us be candid, beloved,
romance should not require
a doctoral dissertation
to decipher its intentions.
A little mystery is enchanting.
Chronic indecision?
Hardly an aphrodisiac.
I desire a love
that carries its own integrity,
one that is neither ostentatious
nor susceptible
to the fickle applause
of an indifferent world.
Let the ocean bear witness.
Let its copious waters
move with the cadence
of our laughter.
Let moonlight settle
upon our shoulders
as we discover
the sublime intimacy
of simply being.
No pretense.
No appeasement.
No clandestine negotiations
with the truth.
Only the splendid reciprocity
of affection freely given
and graciously received.
For I have learned
that timeless love
does not diminish individuality.
It celebrates the regality
of two distinct spirits
who choose companionship
without relinquishing
their sovereignty.
And when autumn
has visited our windows
a thousand times,
when the sea has polished
the shoreline with its patient tides,
may we still find pleasure
in the smallest gestures.
Your hand resting upon mine.
A knowing glance across the room.
Tea steeping in the evening quiet.
The occasional laughter
that interrupts our seriousness
and reminds us
that love should be enjoyed.
So come closer.
Let the night become gentle.
Let your heart speak
without embellishment.
Meet me where honesty
has nothing to conceal,
where passion carries discernment,
and devotion remains
as natural as the tide
returning to shore.
I have no desire
for a love that must be persuaded
to recognize its own presence.
I welcome the one
that knows.
The one that stays
because staying is a choice
made freely,
beautifully,
and without reservation.
And when the years
have softened our faces,
may we look at one another
with that familiar tenderness
and smile at the audacity
of having loved so completely.
No elaborate declaration.
No grand audience.
Just you,
me,
the evening sea,
and the sublime assurance
that what we cultivated
was never an illusion.
Call it real.
Because the finest love
does not merely promise forever.
It makes every ordinary moment
worthy of eternity.
Copyright © 2026 Sherley Delia
