Imperfection, care and carelessness

There is a silent sadness in seeing truth getting stained. Especially if the truth is an important part of your heart, part of who you are and what you feel.

Its the pain felt by the vet whose imperfect hands are giving care to a bird that is hurt. Its the diminished joy of the parent whose child falls hard before it learns to walk. Its the uneasy feeling of the gardener who sees his hose deform the roses that he is watering.

But this sadness shouldn't speak now, for the baby has already gone to sleep.