The One With the Storm Bright Eyes
He came into the world
already carrying a kind of light
that didn’t belong to anything ordinary.
Not sunshine.
Not fire.
Something gentler,
like the glow that lingers
after lightning has touched the sky
but refuses to leave.
He was small,
but he loved big—
arms thrown around necks
with the full force
of someone who never learned
to hold back.
He laughed like he meant it,
ran like the earth was soft beneath him,
and asked questions
that made adults pause
because they didn’t know
how to answer honestly.
There was always something
a little older in his eyes,
as if he’d lived a life before this one
and came back
just to try again
with more tenderness.
And then—
the world shifted.
Not loudly.
Not with warning.
Just one day
the air felt different,
and the grown-ups spoke
in careful voices,
and the room filled
with words too heavy
for a child to carry
and too sharp
for a mother to hear.
But even then—
even in the sterile light
of hospital rooms
and the quiet hum of machines—
he held onto that brightness.
He held onto it
like it was a rope
leading him back to himself.
He is small,
but he is fierce.
He is young,
but he is ancient.
He is fragile,
but he is made
of something the world
does not know how to break.
And when he smiles—
even now,
even through all of it—
it feels like the universe
remembering how to hope.
-Lynn Hammond
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