It's always the little things that leave the most astounding impressions.
If I meet you for the first time, I may not fully remember your name, but I'll remember that you have a beautiful birth mark on your neck, of which you probably hate. But it almost looks like the shape of a heart.
And maybe you were ridiculed all your life because of it, maybe that's why you constantly act as though your poppin' your collar, constantly doing a scaled down version of Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock Holmes.
But that's no matter to me.
It's the little things that leave the most astounding impressions.
When I looked down at his feet, he was wearing these antique looking cowboy boots and they somehow reminded me of the Civil War. I didn't expect that. I didn't expect him to be so forthright with his fashion choices. So bold. But what stood out most, was the glimmer in his eyes. Both of them. Usually, I see people that have an exceptionally bright light in one eye, not him. Both eyes were shining--with love, towards me.
It wasn't the boots that were astounding, but it was the fragility of his eyes.
I bet you were made fun of too. For being too sensitive, not having a strong enough backbone. I know, they did that to me too.
But I learned it takes courage to cry.
And when you hugged me, you pressed your chin ever so softly into my shoulder. You held it there for a while. It wasn't the hug that did me in. It was your chin.
It's the littlest things that leave the most astounding impressions.
And I noticed today, that there's a whole world of beauty and strength around us, even in our defeat. There's someone still carrying a torch for us, whether unrequited or not. And it's the glimmer of hope that streaks across the sky each morning, as the sun rises to remind you of a new day's promises.
No, things won't be the same. Not as they were.
That season has past.
But you are still in the race.
And when I get overwhelmed by the forest and the trees, I remind myself, that there are still butterflies in the world.
“It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.”
― Arthur Conan Doyle, The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes