No one guards the gate.
No one keeps score
of things borrowed
or joys returned.
A guest is not
an interruption—
but a celebration
that the world
still brings company.
Love doesn’t shout here—
it rests in the grass,
waits in the shade,
arrives with nothing
and leaves everything.
Silence isn’t suspicion here—
it’s comfort
grown tall
as ivy.
We should all be so lucky—
to arrive unannounced
and be handed paradise
like it was always ours.
