In the early days love was beautiful
Men of character ruled the day
they wore honor like their finest coats,
And hearts melted like wax by candlelight.
torn between duty and desire
they did all, in respect to what was promised
Like a torn cloth, can wrap around something gently.
They found time to keep the sparks alive
Late night walks in the cold streets
The instinct to protect was in every step
The gentleman would ensure you walk on his left side
Sweet scented letters were filled with tenderness
The butterflies felt made one feel alive
The tones captured would leave one drunk for days
Madams were not just seen, they were beheld—
Adored through glances that never wandered,
Through gestures that held more weight
Than a thousand whispered vows.
At night, dreams wore his scent,
And the moonlight tucked them in with his name.
madams felt seen, cared for and loved
Through unspoken promises and deliberate actions
At the end of the day, sweet dreams,
accompanied the night like he never left
They truly felt breathless
Now madams want to breath less
To escape the nightmares that cloud their hearts
Time blurs and promises are just words
The hallow ache makes them want to die
For a whole day the text reads “good morning” and “hi”
Nonchallance has turned the sparks to ash
The men though torn between this and that leave it at that No apologies to make things right
The warmth of melted hearts, now frozen back to ice
Desire was not loud or rushed—
It was deliberate,
Like footsteps echoing through quiet streets
Where even cold winds bowed to a protective arm.
The early days were beautiful
There were promises of a smile to chase the tears of sorrow
That smile won’t count now worse even tomorrow
Time has blurred into silence,
And promises dissolve like ink in rain.
A whole day’s love—shrunk to “good morning” and “hi.”
In the unspoken promise:
“I choose you—on purpose.”
And even when he left,
He never really left.
Dreams curled beside you like a scarf soaked in his cologne.
The spark has been buried under layers of ash.
Men, once torn and striving,
Now shrug and retreat—no battles fought, no wrongs made right.
The warmth once carved into their touch
Has grown cold, turned to frost on a distant windowpane.
Once, love could chase sorrow into hiding
With just a smile—
But that smile now lands hollow,
And tomorrow will feel worse.
That kind of love—the pure, the gold-leaf kind—
Must shine truer than wealth
And offer not just an empty hand
But one that carries tokens—
Time, effort, presence, and truth.
I long for yesterday,
Far back as 1580—
When love was not a convenience,
But a calling.
That love that is true
better be as true as riches and gold
“My hand Is yours to hold “
that hand must not be empty
It must carry with it some tokens
I truly miss yesterday, far back as 1580
A time when love was not a convenience