I was made to collect.
Not stamps or rocks, shells or stickers. I tried collecting each of those things when I was young.
No, I was made to collect facial expressions, moments and overlooked details: that coffee stain I saw on her red dress, the way he sighed and frowned as he bent down to fix his bike handles, the checkered tablecloth in the restaurant where my mom was reunited with her family after over 20 years.
I collect to confirm and tell the world that there’s reason to hope and reason to believe beauty and strength can flourish in the most unlikely places.
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