Sometimes I think about love

 Sometimes I think about love

as if it were something that could sign its name—
bold ink, soft curves,
a tender script
that leaves its mark long after the moment has passed.

If that were true,
your love would be written everywhere.

In the doorway where you greeted me
like joy itself had paws.
In the blankets you curled into
as if they were made just for you.
In the quiet spaces where grief settles now,
but your memory still glows
like a warm ember refusing to fade.

You didn’t speak in words,
but you signed your love
in every glance,
every nudge,
every tail-wag
that said,
“I choose you.
Every time.
Always.”

If love could sign its name,
I’d find yours in the starlight,
in the slow, healing breath I take each night,
in the invisible thread that pulls me back
to the truth of what we were.

You were love,
pure and without question.
And you left your signature
on my heart—
permanent, gentle,
impossible to erase.

If love could sign its name,
it would trace the outline of your paw,
your devotion,
your forever place in my life.

And I’d sign mine back
with every memory I carry,
every whisper of your name,
every beat that still knows
love doesn’t end—
it simply changes form
and waits.