he never could understand why society measured worth through things like height and physical ability yet he did too value himself only as high as he was on the chart on the wall and the speed in his legs. each night curled under the sheets he'd whisper a request for a little more stature, unsure if it was received first-hand or ended up in the voicemail of someone, something, larger than himself. there was always the naive hope somewhere within him that one morning he would awake a better person who would be looked upon with envy, and each disappointing morning would erode that hope a bit - just a bit, enough to cause a slight souring of the heart but not so to extinguish the dream completely. even if the physical could not give him what he desired, there was always that Greater Thing who loves, that Being greater than Them, than Him, than Her, whose sole approval did matter; this He, who cared not if he was the smallest, the weakest, the most broken, vile creature alive but was supposed to have a Great Love Beyond Comprehension for him. and daily he waits for this Love to materialise, or to be able to finally see it.
-Jont
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