Yesterday, somebody asked me if I believed in grand gestures in love. I answered that I don’t. Grand gestures are a fine cinematic expression, necessary for the big screen. But the love I believe in, is in the hum of the day-to-day, in the ordinary hours, of an anonymous life. Love dwells in unnoticed generosities. Love offers countless small forgivenesses. When you agonize when to confront and when to ignore, when you decide between words and silence, when you realize that to heal the beloved may be in companionship or in separation, that is love. When you say, “If you get hungry, here’s a little something...” or “You might get cold, so I brought you this...” or even “It is your turn now; I will fade so you can shine,” that is love, because love has conquered time, so love can predict the beloved, and love has nurtured and forgiven in advance.
Big travel and meticulous dinners are not quite as beautiful as the consistent thank you and the unpressured please. Love is the word that saves the heart from breaking, a touch that stops the soul from hardening, the hug just a bit too tight, the goodbye half-swallowed, and the tear kept secret.
Love is grace, love is sacrifice, but never a show, never a grand performance. Love is a gaze, love is waiting, love is letting go, love never mourns. Perhaps the greatest distinction: love and ego do not exist in the same heart. Love forgets the self. When love becomes your total being, that is the only grand, but invisible, gesture I believe in.
- Enrico Santos, 2018