The choice of love

Love is the whisper in the silent night, A hand that holds through darkest fright. It's not just roses, soft and red, But quiet words that go unsaid. It blooms where kindness dares to stay, In gentle acts, day after day. It’s in the waiting, in the fight, In choosing each other, even in spite. It bends, it breaks, but mends again, A storm, a fire, a soft refrain. It's not always perfect, pure, or still— But love endures when we choose it still.