Small kindnesses mean a great deal to me. A single flower tucked behind my ear, a gentle smile, the back of his knuckles briefly running down my cheek.
Love happens softly in the quiet, simple things, I think. A poem. A whisper at the end of a day.
There is a quiet in me lately. A hush. A listening....
An old willow tree is such a good place under which to nurture that.
I'll tell you a thousand times
If telling you will ring as true
as telling yourself
if telling yourself, was something
that would ever be told.
I'll tell you you're magic.
I'll tell you, you are made of
wild stuff, wrapped with the
thin coil of compassion,
of tender responsibility; holding
it inside, if only slightly,
while the wild reaches out
like fingers to wind, like vines
to sun. I'll tell you truths you
buried in you like the bones of old
skeletons from your burned down
closets. I'll tell you forgotten
compliments I don't believe
you ever believed. I am here,
I will tell you.
~ Tyler Knott Gregson