Fragile Hearts

Can be broken.

Sometimes I stare at people a little too long, like after the initial smile and nod, they turn slightly away, but sometimes I still watch them. I begin to notice things about them. I see their weaknesses, their fragileness, their softness, their worries and their insecurities. Most of the time it makes me sad, and makes me want to give them {what I like to call} a Fiderio Hug. Which is a big big hug, with a simultaneous pat pat pat on the back, developed by the only one I know that could truly give the most giant of hugs, my Grama Fiderio. Even on her dying day, as a 12 yr old girl, she reached over and hugged me so tightly, you would never know she was dying. She made me instantly feel better, not as scared, and it left an indullable mark on my body as well as my heart. I try always to hug like that.

My point is i feel things, like intuitively about people. Like that they are sad, even when they smile and laugh, like that they hurt, so deeply by looking at their eyes, like when someone says something sooo sweet, but their eyes cut you underneath. I pick up on those things. And really you would think it was a good thing, but it makes me sad alot, and it makes me angry, or it changes my opinion of them, because there is more there than meets the eye, that others don't see. And Steve is always saying that he doesn't understand HOW I get so upset from things...but when you look at someone, you can see their heart. And some have fragile hearts.

My cousin's heart is very fragile, she is very emotional and sentimental, but often puts on the air of a fun loving person, with out a care. But she's not. She has always been my hero, and the first day I realized that she wasn't all craziness and laughter, I think I realized we had so much more in common than I thought. I think she sees peoples hearts too, when she looks at them. But her heart is breaking, bleeding, aching, and there is nothing worldly we can give her, for her pain is sooo great, that all she can do is rise above, and grow. But she's not there yet, she's holding on, to the best of her abilities, but theres a long way to go. And I see it every time I look at her.

And some don't care.

Those that will remain nameless are spoiled little brats. They say the world has been sooo cruel to them, but they have never been with out clothes or shoes, or a roof. They may not have had name brands {and our culture tells us that that =s poor}, but they have never really needed anything that they didn't have. People that collect things, have spare change. And good for them. But they come here and get mad that the food has been put away, and that dinner is over. They get mad that they aren't the ones playing the video games, and they act like little babies and wrap themselves up in my blankets and go to sleep with their feet in my throw pillows.

I call them brats because that's what they act like. And their hearts should be heavy with guilt and sadness, but they are more concerned with getting a burger, than they are with the life they washed away. God bless them, as my mother would say, because they don't know how fragile the ground they walk on really is.


Fragile hearts can be broken, too.