kindness, accidentally

I did not know kindness isn't always loud,
not the grand gestures, not the
throw-the-coat-over-a-puddle,
because sometimes
it is simply someone sitting on the ground 
just because you did, even though 
there's a perfectly good chair
and they're wearing white pants.

sometimes,
it's the way they swing your hand while walking, no rhythm
just something they can't help or it's the way 
someone grabs your arm mid-laugh 
like the joke was too big for one body,
like joy needed somewhere else to go.

someone spinning while they're waiting for the microwave,
skipping stairs just to feel a second of flight,
swaying in the kitchen with you,
arms around your ribs, like there's music
only you can hear.

it's
the breath someone takes at an open window,
like the sky said their name.
the way they pull their chair closer to yours,
not because they can't hear you,
but because they want to.

someone waiting for your laugh before they keep talking,
letting you hum, letting you be,
someone asking if you're okay
when you’re crying on the phone
in the middle of the street,
reminding you you’re not invisible.

it's no big deal, just a hundred tiny things
that say, i see you i see you i see you
without making it a thing.
and maybe you don’t notice at first
maybe you’re still unlearning how to flinch—
but something in you
starts to relax

and suddenly,
you’re laughing with your whole body,
spinning in hallways,
breathing deeper at windows,
pulling your chair closer too.

maybe that’s the point.
maybe kindness isn’t the starring role—
just the reason
the story gets to keep going.