the boy who lived

This is another night spent writing reports, I've grown to loathe this. I'm basking in the silence and tranquility within these walls. Journal articles scattered here and also there, I just want to stop thinking for a moment and just listen to my own thoughts. Sometimes silence isn't so bad.

I remember a few years ago, I saw a young boy in a wheelchair. His eyes were curious, bright, bold and deep azure. People saw him differently because he had both his legs amputated. He used to watch me running up the street whilst I rush to the station. His smile although small, was always reassuring to me. Sometimes we overlook the simplest thing that we have and take it for granted. The timid boy with sandy brown hair once told me that he wanted to feel the air coursing through his hair, as though he was flying.

I saw him the other day whilst I was on my way to the doctor. This was a boy once confined to his humble chair, but now he was on a scooter. He used one hand to steer and the other to propel the scooter forward. I guess he finally discovered that sensation of flying. He wore the brightest grin I've ever seen, seeing his smile made my day. People seemed to always dictate what capabilities he had, but he never gave up. His persistence and courage is certainly most admirable. When I look at him now, I see everlasting hope.