I find that it's the little things that let you show you love someone.
It's rarely a huge light show- fireworks and crescendoing orchestras.
It's usually subtle as a birdsong,
And as constant.
Just something little, just something thoughtful.
Loving is an art, and you can always be more attentive, more tender, more detailed
About it.
I love that about love.
Love is never finished, just like art.
Never finished, only abandoned.
You can add the little flourishes all day long, down to the tiniest things,
And still it will have room to be even sweeter, even better.
If you really want someone to feel loved,
You can work and think and make every second another chance
To show it.
That's what I love about love.
There is always more to give, more to say.
I love to find the little throw-away things, things that are so subtle that the world doesn't even notice,
So small that they could easily be omitted and never be missed,
Those moments of "I just want to give you something, anything."
Because so many people let those things pass-
The thousands of chances they get each day to show love,
Things so simple and easy that they don't even seem to matter,
But oh, they do.
There is no better way to say I Love You
Than to notice when someone is sad and lend a comforting touch to the shoulder,
To take the time to know them well enough to know just what they need to hear and when,
Or to remember their favorite chocolate and buy it for them as a surprise,
Or to know, even, when to bow out and take the crowd with you.
I'll give you my hands,
I'll give you my time,
I'll give you my attention,
My affection,
My passions,
My secrets,
My absence and my constancy,
My humor and my understanding,
I'll give you my body and my mind,
I'll give you security,
Comfort,
Acceptance.
I will give you
As much or as little of me as you want.
And it is my art to know which.
It is my art to invest a bit of all of it
Into every silly little thing I do for you
So that you will feel loved always
But never know quite where it comes from.
It hides, see,
In the little bits of art I do for you,
In the way I might fold your clothes if they're on the bed, just so you won't have to.
In my eyes as I watch you play piano,
In the tips of my fingers whenever I touch you.
All of that is there, and more.
All of that is for you,
So that you can live with that kind of cushion between you and a cold hard world,
If you want it.
And all of that, also, is just hidden enough
So that you may leave it if you don't need it.
This is for you.
This and anything else you could ask of me.