To love is to gather the things left unsaid,
the grief they buried, the tears they bled.

The laughter they hid in the quietest room,
small joys that still blossom against their gloom.

The storms in their family that contoured their night,
the knots they untangle before dawn’s light.

You inherit the lessons their failures revealed,
scars they shouldered, the weight they concealed.

The dreams they abandoned, the ones they keep, 
the nights they were broken, the nights without sleep.

The child they were, the battles they fought,
the pieces of wisdom their living has taught.

You hold close the traces of all they’ve been,
every version they bring and every shadow within.

So when you say, I love you with a voice soft as dew,
the past and the present arrive with them, too.

- Neha Sharma