presence
The Quiet Grace of Love
In the hush between heartbeats,
love moves without applause.
It does not demand, nor boast,
but breathes gently through the ordinary,
the smoothing of a sheet,
the soft clang of a spoon in a bowl,
the warmth of food prepared with care.
To serve is not to shrink,
but to expand,
to let compassion pour through your hands
like warm water over cool stone.
It is the silent prayer of presence,
the meeting of souls through simple acts,
where humility becomes holiness.
Real love does not seek a throne.
It kneels beside, not below.
It rubs the aching shoulders,
listens without fixing,
and gives without keeping score.
Two hearts in quiet rhythm,
each tending to the other’s light.
This is the still power of devotion,
not grand gestures,
but the sacred everyday:
a bed made, a meal shared,
a back soothed by knowing hands.
For when we serve in love,
we are not losing ourselves,
we are finding the Divine within us both.
behind each step
Smoke curls along the alley,
and in the shifting haze
a mural dragon stares down,
its scales chipped,
yet the gaze still remains—
a watcher above the street.
A café door swings open,
voices spill into the night,
debating ethics over bitter coffee,
their words rising,
then breaking apart
like ash in the wind.
Inquiry drifts through the scene:
a figure pauses,
studying the cracks in the pavement,
the way shadows lean
toward the lamplight,
as if the city itself
were asking a question
that no one answers.
The walker keeps moving,
not hurried, not stalled,
but marked by the silence
that lingers behind each step.