In the silence of solitude, hearts yearn for a beat,

To fill the void, they sketch dreams so sweet.

A lover's face, drawn from wishes and air,

A companion molded by longing, beyond compare.

In crowded rooms or quiet walks alone,

They conjure a presence, from the unknown.

A laugh, a touch, imagined so clear,

A mirage of intimacy, drawing near.

Yet, in this dance of shadows and light,

The heart may stumble, mistaking sight.

For in the arms of another, they seek to find,

The perfect match, their own mind designed.

But love, true love, is not a mere thought,

It's not just comfort, when life feels fraught.

It's seeing the flaws, the human, the real,

And choosing to stay, to listen, to feel.

So beware the trap, of the ideal so fair,

For it's in the raw, true moments we share,

That love finds its footing, its genuine start,

In the imperfect beat, of a genuine heart.