I was walking down a street one evening when a sudden tiny hand grabbed my finger. Astonished and taken a back I turned around to see a girl of about 8. A beautiful child by the face. Very elegant who could brighten up the world with her smile. As my eyes moved down her appearance, I saw an old, faded, pink frock that engulfed her delicate stature and my eyes caught the hole it had near the shoulder and remains of stitches on her sleeves. I glanced further down to see her feet one of which had the privilege of a rubber slipper while the other loathed in mud. She dropped my finger and looked up at me with the eyes that caught me off guard.
The pedestrians walking along side who were watching us, gave me a look of disgust and confusion as to why I was wasting my time looking into the eyes of an ordinary, dirty child by the road. They, I assume, saw the filth around the girl, the dirty toy that she held, the freckles of dust that were visible in the entangled knots of her hair.
I couldn't get my eyes off her. For I saw the purest form of innocence in her pain stricken eyes. The eyes that knew little, yet show cased the quality to connect. How they held onto my otherwise distracted mind, not letting me look at anything beyond them.
There were no words exchanged, no gestures made, yet the connection persisted, holding us both in a bond that was an abyss of the unknown.
Why she held my finger at that moment is something I will never figure out, however as she dropped her hand and moved away with a smile, not on the lips, but the smile with which her eyes shone, left my smile reaching my eyes.
The pedestrians walking along side who were watching us, gave me a look of disgust and confusion as to why I was wasting my time looking into the eyes of an ordinary, dirty child by the road. They, I assume, saw the filth around the girl, the dirty toy that she held, the freckles of dust that were visible in the entangled knots of her hair.
I couldn't get my eyes off her. For I saw the purest form of innocence in her pain stricken eyes. The eyes that knew little, yet show cased the quality to connect. How they held onto my otherwise distracted mind, not letting me look at anything beyond them.
There were no words exchanged, no gestures made, yet the connection persisted, holding us both in a bond that was an abyss of the unknown.
Why she held my finger at that moment is something I will never figure out, however as she dropped her hand and moved away with a smile, not on the lips, but the smile with which her eyes shone, left my smile reaching my eyes.
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