“But who can remember pain, once it’s over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see. Out of sight, out of mind.”—The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood (via fuckyeahliteraryquotes)
There is an innocence, a purity, a clarity that a child posses. You have a long way to go, my tiny human. I’ve always admired their freedom. I ponder as they waddle past, with sheer joy on their faces, towards the secure touch of a father. Things are so much simpler. Its been quite a while.
Poor boy, he has lost sight of his mother. He is alone, sitting on the stairwell, crying. I kneel down to his height. He looks at me with wide-eyes red from the tears, his glance revealed his worry and relief that someone has come to help. I lend him my hand and we roamed in search his mother.
I felt him tremble. I told him everything will be fine and patted his small head. He rested his head on me, as if he trusted me. A warmth overwhelmed me, perhaps it was the feeling from helping someone in help, the feeling of being needed.
We turned the corner and he recognized his mother’s face, turns out she was looking for him too. He ran towards her embrace without looking back. You’re welcome, tiny human.
I recall this day frequently. For it brought about naturally the thought that possibly, one day, one of these tiny humans will be mine.
You were there. You saw everything. You saw a more intimate side of me, one that people rarely see in me. And you, of all people, saw. You were looking right at me as this event took place. You were smiling.