Where some see shoes, I see a father desperately comforting his daughter, telling her everything will be fine when he knows it won’t be okay ever again.
Where some see shoes, I see missed opportunities to get to know the people wearing them.
Where some see shoes, I see the sad face of a little boy exhausted after a train journey—not a luxurious journey on the way to visit his grandparents or on a short vacation. A train journey packed with so many others, strangers, like cattle, deprived of food and water.
Where some see shoes, I see an old woman who only celebrated her 99th birthday last week but has now been killed in a gas chamber.
Where some see shoes, I see a teacher, a musician, an artist, a Doctor, a homemaker, a cleaning lady, a garbage man, a lover, a poet, and a child.
I see more than shoes. I see lives destroyed, futures disrupted, and potential unfulfilled, all because of hate.
I see more than shoes; I also see an opportunity for prayer and meditation, any way of showing love to their souls wherever they may be now.
Hate will never win—love will never stop.
History of Sorts 
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