brushing away a stray strand of hair…
The gentle graze of a hand
wiping tears that were never meant to be seen.
Are these the quiet signatures of love?
Is it hidden in the soft sigh
that escapes when arms tighten around you
for just a moment longer
before letting go?
Is it the stillness that follows—
a fragile peace
after the storms of old pain have passed?
Perhaps it lives in smaller places…
In the reflex smile
that appears when a memory drifts through your mind,
Or in the sudden flutter of butterflies
when your phone lights up
with their name.
Maybe love
is not declared in grand gestures—
but whispered
in the language
of small things
~S~
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