A Child’s Silent Plea
That afternoon, the wind howled, lifting dust like it wanted to erase every trace of the day.
The sky burned golden—beautiful, cruelly untouched—while the cracked earth stayed silent, indifferent.
And there he stood… a small boy, clutching a handmade sign

Not begging for coins. Not selling dreams.
Just five fragile words trembling in the heat:
“I hope someone likes it…”
Beside him sat his heart laid bare:
A car built entirely of stones.
Each one chosen with aching care—smooth, jagged, sun-bleached, river-worn.
No glue. No tools. No second chances.
Only tiny hands, endless patience, and a fragile hope that whispered,
“I tried… I really tried.”
No one saw the lonely hours—pockets heavy with treasures,
feet blistered from searching,
eyes bright with secret visions of headlights, wheels, motion…

in a place where nothing ever moves.
He didn’t want praise.
He didn’t want fame.
He just wanted one person to pause…
to look…
and say the three words that could save everything:
“I like it.”
Because sometimes, in a rushing, forgetting world,
a single “I see you” is the only thing
keeping a small, brave heart from crumbling into dust.
Stop for a moment.
Look closer.
You might be the miracle
he’s been waiting for all along.