Lyrics

Love is not only the spark.
Sometimes love is what remains
after the sky stops burning.

It’s easy when the fire is new,
when every glance becomes a clue.
When the heart runs wild and bright,
and every shadow turns to light.

But after lightning leaves the air,
after wonder becomes care,
there is a quieter kind of flame
that asks if we will stay the same.

Not the rush, not the fall,
but the choice beneath it all.

This is the art of staying,
the daily act of saying:
I see you here, I see you true,
not just the dream I made of you.

Not to own, not to bind,
but to meet with open mind.
When the spark becomes a breathing thing,
love learns the art of staying.

I used to think love had to blaze,
to prove itself in golden waves.
But now I see the sacred part
is how it tends the human heart.

A hand that stays when moods are grey,
a voice that does not turn away.
A room where both can fall apart,
and still be held with gentle heart.

Not every silence means goodbye,
some are where the roots survive.

This is the art of staying,
the daily act of saying:
I see you here, I see you true,
not just the dream I made of you.

Not to own, not to bind,
but to meet with open mind.
When the spark becomes a breathing thing,
love learns the art of staying.

To stay is not to disappear.
To love is not to live in fear.
The heart can open, wide and free,
without abandoning its own being.

I can choose you and choose me too.
I can be soft and still be true.

This is the art of staying,
not begging, not betraying.
A love that breathes, a love that knows,
the deepest fire is the one that grows.

Not to own, not to demand,
but to understand and still extend my hand.
When the spark becomes a living thing,
love becomes the art of staying.

After the spark,
love becomes a practice.