The Boy Who Felt the World
The rain pours down upon that innocent skin. He lifts his sweet face up towards the dark sky and slowly closes his little eyes. Tight. So tight.
Every drop that hits him washes away a piece of the unspoiled goodness left from his mother's womb. So little is left. Too little to save his poor heart.
Yet he catches the drops that hurt him so, with those weak soft hands of his, and puts them into the ripped pockets of an old oversized coat. His father's coat.
Tears run within, hidden from sight. Not one breaks from his warm brown eyes. No one can see the hurt. With all he has left, he pushes the corners of his lips up...the world would call it a smile.
Yet only the mother knows; only she can see what lies beneath. He is praying. Pleading for mercy.
This beautiful, perfect little boy.
Wrap your hands around yourself, darling. Give yourself a hug the way that I would. It burns a bit less that way, I know. Let the pain have a voice. Let it come out, don’t hide it inside. It won't break you, I promise. Cry, my child, you deserve to cry.