A bottle of hope sat on the old wooden shelf. It was made out of black glass. Yet, every now and then small hints of silver and gold shimmered and glinted inside the darkness.
It wasn’t something that could be bought or sold. Nor could it be stolen away.
It could be held.
It could be borrowed.
It could be freely given away.
The little orphan girl took it off the shelf and hugged it close to her chest. She held it until she could feel hope’s warm, shimmering glow inside of her. She returned it to the shelf for whoever needed it more than she did.
There was always someone who needed it. Some needed it more. Some needed it less.
Some found it hard to let go. They were the ones who held it the longest with a fierce desperation until it had to be pried out of their fingers.
Because there was always someone who needed that hope. Always someone else.
The orphan girl stepped outside with a smile on her face and hope in her heart.