A Quiet Kind of Love

Like most good things, it took me a while to notice. I left my plants in his care. My kids. And sure, he said he’d “try” to keep them alive, best he could. And sure I “believed” him. But a little part of me really was surprised to see them so green and happy after all this time. I never saw him water the plants. Or rather, I never believed that he watered them when I wasn’t looking. It was a quiet kind of love, like that. He was a quiet kind of lover.

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“That’s just the way I like to love,” he said to me. “It’s what I like.”

“Is that why you like me?” I had asked. After all, I was definitely the loud one. The one that always had more words to write poems with or opinions to have arguments with. I was definitely the one that was loud about my love, for fear that if I wasn’t, the other person would never know. Like my love would remain some big, dumb secret in my own head, so plainly obvious to me, and so invisible to the one I loved.

“Maybe,” he giggled. “I don’t know.”

He told me that Gary the Grass was growing strong and well. So well, in fact, that he had to trim the leaves.

Trim the leaves.

He trimmed the leaves.

I can imagine the scene in my mind’s eye. The care with which he shapes the edges. The interest as he puts Gary back in his cozy corner. A thought that crosses his mind, with my name on it.

Mine.

And all of this, when I had assumed that I had in fact banished my plants to the care of some man who had no choice but to reluctantly accept them into his life. My loud leaves, adding chaotic color to his monochrome house, gently growing a millimeter at a time at his quiet watering.

“I trimmed the leaves, too,” he had said to me. And that was the moment I wholly believed in his love. Just because I couldn’t always see it, does not mean it wasn't there. And maybe he doesn’t hide his watering or maybe he doesn’t brag. But how will I know if he doesn’t tell me? How could I pay such close attention? To notice a love so subtle as the trimming of leaves?

Maybe that’s why I find this healthy relationship confusing at times. In certain moments, I panic, for truly no reason at all. My mind convinces itself that there is something wrong, there has to be something wrong. For there always is. And so I assume neglect. And I don’t inquire in surprise health too much. And I assume it’s mere chance. And I fail to notice the quiet care that went into that love. The once in a while watering that kept it alive. Just a little at a time, but exactly what it needed. I miss the little gentle things that don’t make a sound. And I forget that love need not make a sound.

His is a quiet love. One that’s nurturing and warm. One that feeds me little sips of joy and keeps me healthy. One that rarely makes a sound or rarely looks different. After all, a daily trim will leave you with the same haircut for years, won’t it? Doesn’t mean the hair didn’t grow. Doesn’t mean that we didn’t change or the green didn’t brighten.

A quiet kind of love.

I'm listening.