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Some people will talk about love,
and the grand displays it brings.
The chocolates  and roses on Valentines,
And serenades out window with ballads that are proven.
They’ll tell you of expensive dinners for two,
Or about a trip to Peru.
They’ll tell you about diamond rings,
Of the white dresses and triple tiered cakes,
And flowers of every hue.
Everyone knows this is how you prove your love is true.

But these acts are not where love lives.
Love lives in the unexpected cup of tea
When you come in from the cold,
Or the cup of soup when you have the flu.
Love is the gentle squeeze of a passing hand,
Or the hug waiting at the door.
Love is the shared smile when he enters the room,
And the way her eyes light up to see him there.
Love is opening the garage door for the driver,
Even when you can’t bear to look at his face any more.
Love is the candles and rose petals
Scattered on the empty floor of a new apartment.
Love is the quiet presence that fills in the gaps,
When the shows and bravado have gone home.
That is where true love lives.

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