When he thinks of the unstoppable, he thinks of the morning dew that appears out of nowhere when the sun is barely above the ground. He’s known of one person who asked it to wait, and even then it had seemed like utter foolishness.

When he thinks of the invincible, he thinks of a lion that’s been set free among flocks of sheep while the shepherd rests inside the house. He’s known many sheep, and not a single one of them were able to fend for themselves.

When he allows himself to dream, he dreams of a time when everyone he knows ceases to regard the works of their hands as more important than who they are. Because even though he’s being treated as leftovers, like the scraps that fall from the dinner table, he’s still a human being with potential. He may not see it now, but he’s pretty sure it’s there.

The least he can do is hope that such scraps can still be rescued from the floor, and so he waits for a pair of hands that are willing to reach down and pluck them from their fallen place.


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