My heart, it burns with a thousand suns,
A quiet fire where patience runs.
No hurried steps, no fleeting race,
Love unfolds in its own soft space.
Each moment blooms, a tender art,
No rush to bind two beating hearts.
With steady grace, we weave our days,
In gentle rhythm, love’s warm haze.
No pressure builds, no clocks impose,
We savor time as it softly flows.
Like rivers calm, we merge, we blend,
A love that’s free, with no sharp end.
A thousand suns could rise and set,
Yet patience holds, no trace of fret.
Together, slow, we find our way,
Love’s sweetest gift—time’s kind delay.
Deep Thinking 