What are we,
if not the flicker of a lantern
in a forest no map can name?
You, the flame-steady,unyielding,
I,the shadow-stretching,bending,
always returning to your glow.

We are not a story told,
but the silence between its lines,
the breath held before a truth is spoken.
Not a destination,
but the path worn soft
by the weight of our steps together.

What about us?
We are the questions
no answer can satisfy,
the tide meeting the shore-
neither conquering, neither retreating,
both becoming.

We are not forever,
and yet,we are endless,
an echo folding into itself,
resounding.