In a hidden corner of the universe, the sound of a snail moving and moving away is still distinct, as if time really did it the honour of standing still and the dew drop decided to lie down gentler than usual, on the big leaf you caress. /caption/ A prompt by Airplane Poetry Movement Gentle. In a hidden corner of the universe, the sound of a snail moving and moving away is still distinct, as if time really did it the honour of standing still and the dew drop decided to lie down gentler than usual, on the big leaf you caress. Today, in this space where a snowflake today, was a raindrop yesterday and may be a sand dune in itself tomorrow, I must confess to you, you make me believe in all the intricacies romance has to offer. In all the wonderlands we can fly to as soon as our palms touch and the smiles force their way through every banter. I should confess to you, the first time you called me a flower, I flourished then and there. I drowned into myself and I searched for you and for happiness. And I found it when I found you anew. Again and again. You make me happy. You make me believe how it is in my power and mine alone, to make myself happy. It is in that benevolence, and in that gentle loving, that you make me happy. Gently, like I haven't been loved in years and I've longed for.
