Jun 5, 2010

My Angel

Angel was working with me today. Although Angel is only a few years older than me she looks as if she has lived a lifetime longer. Her skin is dry and wrinkled and she shakes quite visibly. Though her body is worn, her eyes still shine like a child's would, in wreckless naievity. Life has thrown her about like a ship on poisidon's raging seas.

Today she told me about her childhood. It was a mess to say the least. I didn't catch what had happened to her real father and mother but from some young age she had been put into foster care. It was the typical foster care story, skipping from home to home, misbehaving, beatings and abuse. She showed me the scars of cigarette burns on her arms, inflicted on her by some cruel old beast. I wasn't sure what to say to her. I wanted to tell her that everything would be alright but we all know that's a lie. For some of us here on this planet, life is hard and it doesn't get any easier. I just looked at her and held her hand and muttered "Oh, Angel."

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