How beautiful is the human race,
that we find such raw, unbridled
joy in the small things.
Little, broken wonders that keep
us happy. An tangled, unwearable
necklace, stashed in a far, far away
A burnt picture, pressed tightly against
many chests, hearts beating onto
the faded out, but still smiling face.
We keep little moments too.
How it feels to brush the hair
out of his eyes at 10:30 on a cold,
Hands held, little smiles exchanged,
the perfect picture, a semblance of hope.
These are the little moments.
The small things.
Which hold an almost impossible amount of weight.