there are an infinite amount of stories flowing through the veins of humanity. stories about hope and stories about devastation. stories about empires expanding and stories about empires crumbling into dust. stories of birth and death and love and lost. there are stories within each of us and the veins of humanity never stop telling stories.
standing over a crib is a mother and a father. they stare in at their three month old daughter. she looks up at them with wonder in eyes. her father covers his eyes and uncovers them with a "peek-a-boo," which sends the baby into a giggle. it is a quiet giggle, yet it still manages to rattle the bars of the crib and the ribcages of the mother and father.
standing over a grave is an eighty-nine year old man. he holds flowers in his hands and looks down at a tombstone that reads the name of his wife. the mother of his four kids. his hands are cold, typically on a cold night like tonight his fingers would be interlocked against her warm skin. but his hands have been cold for nearly three years now. he sets the flowers down.
standing over a desk is an eighteen year old girl. she is refreshing her computer every five seconds. today is the day that her choice college is sending out their acceptance letters. she has worked tirelessly for the last four years for this one moment. her father dropped out of high school at sixteen. her mother dropped out at seventeen. the fact that she is only two months away from earning her high school diploma is a miracle in and of itself. but she has always strived for more than just a simple miracle. she is one who stands at the edge of the universe and asks it for more. she is always striving for more.
standing in the middle of the living room is a twenty-seven year old man. in front of him are two couches filled with loved ones. a couple more stand behind the couches and a couple more lean against the wall in the back of the room. he has asked them all to be here tonight. he figured it would be easier this way. to say it just once and never again. he wipes a tear from his cheek and looks up at the ceiling. he can't look them in the eyes, not tonight. "i, um," he begins. he wipes another tear against his sleeve. "i have cancer."
there are an infinite amount of stories flowing through the veins of humanity.