Tender Reverie

Tender Reverie

In morning's gentle breath, a hand finds mine—
soft fingers weave through spaces meant to hold.
The world grows quiet, time forgets to bind
our hearts that speak in languages untold.

A mother's thumb that wipes away a tear,
her whispered song that chases fear from night.
An old man feeds the sparrows drawing near,
his weathered smile makes broken spirits light.

The pause between two lovers' knowing glance,
where universes bloom in silent speech.
A child who offers dandelions' dance
to strangers sitting just beyond their reach.

These fragments—small as dewdrops, vast as seas—
awaken what lay dormant in our chest.
They crack the armor of our cold unease
and teach the weary mind to find its rest.

For tenderness is not a grand display
but feather-touches on a hardened soul,
the way sunlight through leaves decides to play
on faces that forgot they could be whole.

In these brief moments, we remember why
the heart still beats, the mind still dares to dream—
that love exists in every lullaby,
in every gentle touch, in every gleam.