Inside

There is a beautiful thing inside all of us, and it flits and it floats and it tumbles, and it aspires to be everything that we are, or that we were, or that we will be one day. It does not have a color, but if it did, human minds would not be able to comprehend the magnificent spectrum that it would hold, and it has no voice or race or gender. It's nothing and it's everything that we cradle close to our hearts, and it can range from hot to luke-warm to downright freezing.

We cannot see it in ourselves but we can see it on the streets, hopping from one person to the other, helping and caring and being and needing and wanting. It will go on for the next thousand years and the next million after that, and nothing or no one will ever be able to stop it or hold it back or put an obstacle in front of it, because the thing is infinite, and it has infinite hiding spots in the darkest of times, and infinite ways to replenish itself when it has been cast away.

When you find this thing, you will not know at first what you have, but by the time that you do, it will have evaded you by great measures, slipped out of your grasp, right through your flimsy little fingertips, and there is no amount of begging or pleading that will ever bring it back.