I came to Life with my hands open, awaiting the good things I knew would be poured into them. I was not mistaken. As long as my hands remained open they were filled. I saw loves and joys, hopes and dreams placed in their once empty palms. At times the desire to assure myself that these were actually mine to hold and keep was too great and I found my fingers trembling. What would happen if I closed my hands on these gifts? How long would they remain with me if I did not? I did not know, and Life provided me no clear answers. Something within urged me not to cling to such apparently fragile things, and so I resisted the desire to close my hands upon what I had been given. I would wait and try to trust.
Months have passed and some of these treasures have been carried away with Time's winds. They were not meant to be mine any longer and perhaps will not be ever again. With sleepless nights and tears I mourned their passing. Others have remained, though seemingly changed to ash even as I watched and waited. These too I mourn. I am asked how could I not fight for these my treasures? Because in a very real way they were not truly mine. They were given to me, yet in a most transitory fashion, placed in my open hands. And so now I stand waiting, tears occationally disturbing the layers of ash, perhaps waiting for a phoenix to rise. For these treasures are still in my care, though not in the form they once had, and I will not reject them in order to reach after something else.