Walking on the road, you pass so many people. Some look confident, purposeful,
well-dressed, well-maintained. But the majority appear so ordinary, wear
ill-fitting clothes, unfashionable footwear, have too much fat or too little,
nothing remarkable about them, nothing attractive.
But yet someone somewhere eagerly waits for this unimpressive man to come home every evening.
Someone's entire world turns around the strength of this frail-looking woman.
Someone's very purpose in life hinges on this brash youngster cutting through traffic.
Someone knows only the shelter of these old arms each time their world begins to crumble.
Someone will count hours, minutes, and weep like a child when this pock-marked face alights from a long-distance train.
Someone will cave in, crack up, and never be the same again if this one person disappears from the face of the world.
There are no ordinary people.
Drive carefully.
But yet someone somewhere eagerly waits for this unimpressive man to come home every evening.
Someone's entire world turns around the strength of this frail-looking woman.
Someone's very purpose in life hinges on this brash youngster cutting through traffic.
Someone knows only the shelter of these old arms each time their world begins to crumble.
Someone will count hours, minutes, and weep like a child when this pock-marked face alights from a long-distance train.
Someone will cave in, crack up, and never be the same again if this one person disappears from the face of the world.
There are no ordinary people.
Drive carefully.
This one made me weep. You have a gift Asha
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