They were loved because they taught him to love. Love was what bonded him to them, them to him, and it was what kept them alive in a world full of despair. They knew they had to teach him to see, to appreciate and they were successful. For his love is still felt, his name is still remembered, his intentions are alive, his work thrives, the love for him is growing still, the world is getting happier, while he lays, peacefully sleeping after a long day’s work.
After every great story is a lesson. Behind every great story is a darkness that brings out the light. His light was him; his darkness is what he witnessed. The boy saw the pain in his mother’s eyes, the pain of dying partially, the pain of thinking, unable to express. He saw her suffer and felt the pain. The pain of knowing he could have her back, but what it would require was beyond his reach. His reach, which prevented him from being cuddled again, talked to again, loved again in the same ways. He was young, but he learnt his lesson well. God taught him, and thus he was made a teacher to the rest of the world.
He knew hope was useless, but hope never stops thriving. The boy hoped for long, hoped for betterment, and he achieved it. He was broken and sad, depressed and never the same again. But the hope remained. It prospered, and is blooming still.
The boy was pained in the utmost, burying his mother at an age one is supposed to be careless and free. The boy wept, the boy despaired. But the boy knew. He knew better than to waste his life in a darkened room. He knew better than to let her die in vain. He knew better than to let anyone suffer as he did. And so he loved. He smiled. He became him, the person we all cherish, the one who helped so many, the one remembered by so many.
God’s gift to humankind, His way of providing help, the boy soon became known. He helped so many like his mother. The boy became him, the man we all love, the one who loved us all. He would sit with the poor, cry with the saddened, suffer with the hurt, just to share our pain. He gave away everything for the love of the world. The love for money never bloomed in his heart, despite the vastness of its welcoming arms, the fertile inside of it holding so many feelings. The boy became a man old and remembered, but his pain remained. The beauty in him was the evolution of his pain into his passion, and into love, for many who suffered in the same way as his loved one.
He is remembered much, but the pain behind his work forgotten. His favors are taken, but the help never provided. His pain is dust, just like him. But his work is the blooming flower. His lesson is still alive in the mere existence of his work. Love is a hard lesson to teach, a hard advice to implement, and so many are yet to learn. But the boy showed the plain truth hidden behind the bustle of the world. Pain belongs with everyone, love is shared. He showed how to numb the pain, to give out the love. All one has to do is follow in his footsteps.
The boy is the dust that hovers around in the indifferent world. He is the memory of those who will soon pass away. He is the mourning of those who will soon forget him. He is the smiling person lying on the flat ground with blades of grass stuck in his young black hair. He is the person awaiting those who learnt his lesson well. He cannot return, but he left a gift for us to find. To find and to keep.