"And His Hand Fell from My Palm" - Theme Thursday

He had reached out to me, desiring to place his trials, his conquests, and his defeats in the palm of my hand and I stood there speechless.  I wanted to devour the insight, to clothe myself with the wisdom and experience resonating from his eyes.  He needed the comfort of words both spilling from him and piercing towards me.

But I needed the solace of apathy.

Instantaneously a thousand year war raged in my head with horns and guns drowning the plea to accept the gift he was trying to give.  I cracked my usual self-indulgent smile, cocked my head back and to the side and looked at him with half squinted eyes hoping he would hear my wordless message that I don't need what he has.

This arrogance was quickly shattered as the persistence of his limb reached towards me and the raspy, high pitched voice continued to break my desired silence.  He was battle torn over a few short years of complete disaster of which I could not fathom the impact.  His face was sheet white, save the reddish brown scar which spanned from his left temple to the center of his head and then back down.

The battle he had faced was coming to a slow end.  A fight with knives, white, sterile rooms, and pain.  This enemy had stolen his strength, his freedom, sometimes his sanity, and his hair.This enemy had stolen his life but he wouldn't say that.

He would say it gave him deep, true love with people and far more with Glory to desecrate in a futile attempt to explain with mere words.

There was no regret in his reddish eyes from tears and pain of what he would miss, what he would not experience.  His first car, his first summit of a mountain, his only walk down an isle to a woman resembling in character his mother.  These were after thoughts in the strive for Glory this twelve year old man knew was his.

In the end, I opened the palm of my hand and took his, hoping that crumbs would fall from the wisdom on his table that I might greedily consume.  I listened and laughed until he finished explaining love through disease.  He looked at me, smiled weakly, and with all the strength he could muster, winked.  He then breathed out.

And his hand fell from my palm.

This is a post for Theme Thursday with the topic of  "Palm."

This is a fictional tale for me but I think of many friends as I write it with a heavy heart.  Thank you for strength and wisdom for Glory. 

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