The beauty that seeps from the cracks of an injured soul

I don’t think I’ll ever be afraid of brokenness.
In a way, I am almost attracted to it,
Attracted to the beauty that seeps from the cracks of an injured soul,
To someone humbled by their pain,
Softened and sensitive to the hurting world around them.
The people that are content with sitting alone
And won’t complain about life’s disappointments
Because they are grateful for life’s simplest blessings.
There is something beautiful about a quiet soul
That whispers words of hope,
But only in their fragile movements,
With their tender eyes that leak their pain
Without even needing to be searched.
They needn't use fluffed up words,
Rehearsed and tactically chosen to draw attention to themselves.
They accept their being small
And by no means ever expect to be important,
But they do know that every encounter
Is an opportunity to leave behind
The smallest inkling of an impact;
And hidden inside that knowledge is just enough motivation
...To keep going

And though they often exist in fragments,
They can piece together to create the most tragically beautiful story of hope
When they are noticed.