They sit on her chest. Pressing down on her foundation. Cracking the very structure that is her. She tries to lift them but she can’t. Others before either ignored them or added to the pile.

But who is this stone mason? One who sees the bricks and pictures a house. Who knows how to lift the bricks. Careful not to drop them on himself. He takes them and begins building. His magical hands turn heartache into beauty. But he’s moving so slow.

One day she catches a glimpse into the windows of his soul. Aw, there they are. Practically boulders. She couldn’t move with hers, yet he’s hauling both of theirs.

She reaches out and touches one. “Don’t worry”, he says. “They’ve become a part of me.” But she sees his tired eyes. The stress in each movement. It can’t be true.

She reaches out again. A push instead of a touch. Her force creating an earthquake. Rock crumbling. His eyes open wide. He’s so used to destroying others’ pain. Recreating masterpieces.

But he’s never had this feeling. His body light. His heart taking flight. Wow.

But wait. She’s not done. She looks at the work he’s created for her. Beautiful but not finished.

She picks up the pebbles that have fallen at his feet. She outlines the foundation he laid. Reinforcement. She adds a roof. Protection. And finally, constructs a door. Acceptance.

His pain filled the voids of her happiness. And together, their sorrow was given purpose. Purpose to inspire the conception of a nation.

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