They

They all feel the wind that rustles the dog-eared pages of Their story book. The chill of loneliness runs through Their ceramic bones. And Their tissue paper skin shows Their broken hearts and bruises Like a stained-glass window, somehow making Their troubles seem not so bad. Yet amidst Their painful, depressing pasts and presents, They find hope in looking forward to the future. They feel the radiance of the sun resting on Their ever so delicate shoulders. And the sounds of the world rush through Their ears and minds. They feel the breeze of somewhere not so far away.