Scribd
Upload
10 views1 page

In The Gentle Ordinary

The prose reflects on the beauty of ordinary moments shared with a loved one amidst the chaos of the outside world. It emphasizes the value of simplicity and quiet love, contrasting it with societal pressures to achieve more. Ultimately, it celebrates the profound solace found in gentle, unassuming connections.

Uploaded by

jade64823
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
10 views1 page

In The Gentle Ordinary

The prose reflects on the beauty of ordinary moments shared with a loved one amidst the chaos of the outside world. It emphasizes the value of simplicity and quiet love, contrasting it with societal pressures to achieve more. Ultimately, it celebrates the profound solace found in gentle, unassuming connections.

Uploaded by

jade64823
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

in the gentle ordinary

a prose by airo.plane

i watch him from across the room, the way one watches an old photograph
slowly come to life. he is in the kitchen, humming something shapeless, something
warm, his fingers tracing invisible symphonies across the rim of a chipped mug.
outside, the world roars, ever famished, ever unsatisfied. its noise spills through
headlines, horns, the clatter of ambition. but here, in this quiet orbit of their
making, there is peace. not dramatic, not grand. just peace.

there is a pebble in my coat pocket, small, smooth, and unspectacular. it was


plucked from a wicklow shoreline last july, when the world briefly seemed to pause,
exhaling its demands into the sea. they had laughed then, over nothing at all, their
ankles damp with saltwater and time. now, when my fingers brush its familiar
surface, it feels like a keepsake from a simpler planet. sometimes i wonder if it
misses that moment too.

the world, it seems, is always ending somewhere. people chase purpose like
it’s the last train out of a burning city. disruptors, deconstructors, deadlines. the
currency of value measured in exhaustion. there are voices, sharp, insistent, that
tells me i should be doing more, be more. but i’m tired of being more. tired of being
sharpened.

he never asked me to be anything but here. with him. in the sacred


mundane.

once, on the walk home, i handed him a poem i scribbled on a receipt. he


looked at it like it was starlight. “what a mind,” he whispered, like i had handed him
a galaxy. no audience. no applause. just love, unperformed.

it is a quiet rebellion, this choosing of softness. while the world spins itself
into frenzy, i run home to the hum of an unassuming love, the kind that makes no
demands, that waits with warm tea and unwashed hair, with laughter over groceries
and mismatched socks. it’s not glamorous. it’s not efficient. but it is real.

and in a world full of pushing and shoving, where everything loud drowns the
soul, i find the most exquisite solace in sweet nothings.

because nothings, when offered gently, are everything.

You might also like