We get hurt. We all feel pain deep within. It’s real. It’s devastating and at one point or another, we almost give up. Because we think that the act of surrendering could be the the easiest way out. Somehow, it’s true. And although we try and try our best and no matter how hard we push ourselves to the limits, our efforts nevertheless fail. The rocks still keep throwing themselves at us. One after the other. Worst, we can’t do anything to stop it from causing us bruises. And then, we bleed. Firing at them is the least we could do because we have no weapons in our hands. Only a heart that’s broken and bloody shoulders.
We feel joy. Lips, smiling. Hearts, pondering. And suddenly, hands tied with another. It never lets go of the other hand. Because that’s the only thing that make it happy and proud. That familiar hands that keep on touching every part of your soul. Because you know that it belong to you and you alone. The hands that never give up no matter how strained it is.
Yes, I cry sometimes. But I laugh sometimes, too.
The hands that once broke my heart, are the same hands that make the pieces find its way to be whole again.
Momma Sarah, etc. 