Our Time Spent

I have mentioned before that this little boat breaths a life of it’s own, and like all biology it changes. It changes with such frequency that change it’s self be comes a constant. Faces come and go; new blood and spirits come as old ones leave. It becomes as such that you take no real notice of it. After the hugs and goodbyes there is a moment of loss but life carries on just the same.  However this is, both sadly and gratefully, not true with all cases. She sat alone when first I saw her, among the clanking and chatter of the lunch time rush, and soon I found my self set across adding to the clanking and chatter. Her hair was brown, short, and wavy. Her eyes were blue and encased by the shimmer and sparkle of the glass that was set before them. She gave way to a smile and a conversation’s start. The words flowed from her lips with the quite beautiful accent of her Belgium homeland. She spent her days fallowing the thin, dark skinned model they called pretty, trying all she could to pull a story out of this place. Her nights were spent with me, discussing life’s great mysteries and the defining events from our past, until, and far into, the dead and silent early hours of morning. We may have never agreed, but understand a respected each other, we assuredly did. The more we spoke the more I would see flickers of a flame that has been far long extinguished. With in one short week she had come to know me better than most have in my 20 years of life. Oh how I with we could have had 100 more suns till our depart, but that was not to be our fate. It seems that a week was all we were fated for, and a week was all we got. Faces come and go, but it seems that some faces are to remain forever with in the persistence of memory.  

Something To Show The World

When she leaves here what will she say? What will we have given her? When she came to us she was hidden from the world. A cloth wrapped tightly around her head, doing all she could to hide away the tumor that had grown in place of her mouth; The same tumor that had taken over her life and had wrecked her with cultural distrainment. All she had to show the world was what she used to see it. Those eyes that had seen so much pain and strife held so much hope. For possibly the greatest gift we might have given her, even more so than a life to live, is a face to show the world.

My Hands To Greater Service

Of all the gift I have to give this world, my hands are by far the greatest. With the direction of myself they are more often than not used for frivolous meaning, but with in the control of another they can mean so much more. Now before you jump to the conclusion that I’m about to go on to a clichéd ramble you should know that I am not speaking of god, rather a little girl.  Her hands were curled, more claw than hand. They were rapped, bandaged, casted, and most importantly, utterly useless. It was among the applause of a puppet show and the rhythm of music that these hands of mine found meaning and the ability to give great joy when bent to the will of another. Although this precious little thing had not the ability to applaud or clap to a rhythm, she could certainly push mine together to make that thunderous pop of witch made her smile. It is quite incredible what these hands can do when given to another. They can bring a smile to a little girl, let her join in with her peers, let her be a part of something, and give her hope, if only for a moment.