Little Things Poem by Juan Carlos De Santiago

They say that it's the little things,
the ones that matter most,
that without them, true love dries,
withered roses on the floor.
They say that it's the little things,
serving as a guiding lamppost,
that they'll let you know if love is real
and when it's not anymore.
They say that it's the little things,
like making sure you hold the door,
getting flowers, leaving notes,
knowing who it is by the footsteps on the floor,
morning coffee,
takeout dinner,
corny movie dates,
lovely little kisses
Millions placed all on your face.
They say that it's the little things,
but now I can't agree anymore;
Because I know now
that it's the silent things
The ones that matter most.
Like the warmth of an 'I love you, '
shared across the room
through silent eyes,

or the squeeze of your hand
while your world is collapsing,

the silent smile that outshines
every morning sunrise,

or the walls we built to hide
all the times we are unraveling.

Now I say that it's the silent things,
the ones that you don't hear—
Like their scent on your clothes
that lingers even after washed,
Or the warmth left on the bed,
knowing they're still near,

Like the silent pain endured
each time their heart was crushed.

It's the silent things
the ones that we hold dear—
Like knowing you're forgiven
with their hand running through your hair,

or not knowing that you aren't,
lost in false security,
like not seeing cracks forming slowly
on your pair, soon to shatter
like your favorite coffee mug,
feel it when you cuddle,
when it doesn't feel as snug.

It's the things that you don't hear
The ones that make it clear,
Like knowing in your heart their "I love you" is forever,

but feeling different in your head
when they kiss you at the door,

Or not knowing that their trauma
could fill a bookstore,
and you said something wrong
when you were trying to be clever,

so now someone's left outside
In the weather
And without a single sweater,
and the other doesn't know what to say
to make it better,
so you don't say a word,
can't find worthy absolution,
now you're left alone,
steeping
deep
in your bitter,
Because you've both had poor examples
of conflict resolution,
but you wouldn't know,
since you never opened up to one another.
I know that it's the silent things,
Like hearing nothing but a sigh
that silence magnifies,
Or sitting quietly while they mourn,
as you help them weather one more storm,
Like sitting on the grass,
holding hands,
watching clouds in the skies,
or lying with them in the dark,
trying to muffle all your cries.
See,
I know now that it's the silent things,
and so I need your word—
That you'll never keep your silence,
tell me everything, undeterred.
because
I love you more than peace,
More than shame, pain or happy lies;
I'd rather face the ugly truth together,
in your eyes.
There's nothing you could tell me
that would make me turn away,

because as long as you can tell me,
I know we'll find a way.
And please
have a little patience while I share—

it takes time to tell my story,
there's…
a lot of painful memories.

I don't do it all that often—
It's quite a lot to bear,

but I'd rather tell you all and leave behind no mysteries.
You might use them in our fights,
thrown in with little care,
but I hope instead they guide you
through all the imperfections that I wear.