Folding your little brother’s laundry isn’t nothing. It’s love in its least glamorous outfit.

Care is mostly logistics. The feeling gets all the attention, but what it actually consists of, day to day, is somebody doing an unremarkable task so that someone else does not have to. Nobody makes an occasion of it and nobody thanks anyone, and it is still the substance rather than the decoration.

Do one unasked, unglamorous thing for someone in your house this week and say nothing about it. Fill the tank, fold the clothes, take out the bin. That is the form love takes on most days, and it counts as much as anything said out loud.