Quiet Bloom of Love

Here I am again, sitting quietly at home,

music spilling through the room, feeding something deeper than myself.

Outside, the world moves in bursts of color and motion.

People chase gestures of affection—small tokens, hurried words, fleeting displays—

as if love could only exist in visible proof, as if it had a season.

I watch them sometimes, unnoticed, from my quiet corner.

There is beauty in the way someone holds another’s hand,

in the pause before a smile, the hesitation before a touch,

moments not captured by calendars or cards.

Love, I have learned, is quieter than the noise we make for it.

It blooms in the shared silences, in the songs that play in empty rooms,

in the gentle pulse of hearts that do not need to be seen to be felt.

And so I sit, letting it seep in around me—

the small kindnesses, the patience, the unspoken bonds

that carry weight far beyond the gestures of the world.

It is not in the lines of a crowded store,

but in the quiet recognition that someone, somewhere,

understands the rhythm of your soul.