Some love is like the tide in a coastal town, which rises and falls seven hundred and thirty times in twenty years, but never reaches the correct coastline.
When the moonlight polishes the scale of the breakwater for the seventh time, all the unspoken "I love you" will eventually rust into the bones of the iron tower with the sound of rising tide.
Concept: The unnamed love will eventually grow into the bones of the world in the folds of time.