Reason for my love, the question many ask,

It may be the heart, not the one that pumps blood,
But the heart she crafted and taught how to love.

It may be the smile, a smile never learned,
So she taught it to the heart she created.

It may be the bond that never existed,
So she bound it to the heart she made, becoming the anchor herself.

It may be the dream that never took flight,
So she showed it to the heart she formed.

It may be the reason that never emerged,
So she created one and gifted it to the heart she designed.

It may be the heart she stole,
And kept alive, the same one she forged.

It may be the rhythm that never found its way,
Thus she made it beat in time with hers.

So is the reason I love, though whose, I don’t remember.