Tenderness

A moment of care so small that it would not survive being described, but you have never forgotten it.

When someone handled something fragile about you as if they understood exactly how fragile it was.

The way a person looked at you when they thought you were not watching.

An apology that was not asked for but arrived at the right time and knew exactly what it was for.

When you found yourself being patient with someone in a way that surprised you.

The unguarded moment in an ordinary day when something beautiful was just there.

A kindness extended to someone who was not expecting it and who needed it precisely then.

When you cried at something small because it was touching something large underneath.

The person who showed up, quietly, without making a production of showing up.

A gentle correction given in a way that did not diminish the person being corrected.

When you allowed yourself to need something and someone met that need without embarrassing you.

The animal that came to you as if it knew what state you were in.

A letter, or a message, that someone wrote with real care about who was going to read it.

When someone remembered something small about you that you had mentioned in passing.

The way a particular kind of light falls on something ordinary and makes it briefly sacred.

A moment of play in the middle of something serious that relieved the seriousness without dismissing it.

When a hand was offered without explanation, and you took it.

The quiet meal, in the quiet house, with someone you loved without drama.

A word of praise given privately and meant entirely.

The night someone stayed until you fell asleep because they could see you were afraid.