It stands alone in the doorway, a bustling side walk a few steps ahead. Small, naive, and brimming with hope, It extends its arms, yearning for someone to embrace and shield it.

I cringe witnessing a passer-by kick it to the ground. It stands up, undeterred, reaching out again amid the bustling crowd. Time after time, It faces beatings, pushes, and rejections. I can't watch any longer.

"Don't worry, I will protect you," I assure as I lift its tear-stained, bruised face. Leading It through the doorway, I reassure, "You will be safe inside."

Nail by nail, board by board, I begin to close the doorway. In its endless optimism, It insists I'm wrong and thrusts its tiny hand through the slats. Many passes by, bumping into it, slapping it away, occasionally breaking It's fingers. Some stop and embrace the hand.

"They will leave you; it never lasts," I warn. And they always do. They walk away, unaware of the scars and damage left behind.

"This is for the best," I whisper as I start to fill the cracks. "There will be no air," It cries,"I will die."

"Not die, little one," I reply. "You will simply rest, safe from harm."

As I fill in every gap, the light disappears. It drifts off to sleep, and finally, I find peace.

Many years pass. Though the echoes of passers-by can still be heard, It remains undisturbed, sleeping peacefully. Alone but safe, it stays hidden behind the wall, unnoticed by those walking by.

Yet, one fateful day, a man pauses to rest near the wall. "Move on," I think, determined not to let him disturb It. His curiosity about what could be behind the wall gets the better of him, and he lightly knocks.

"No!" I panic as I see It stir. It sits up slowly, weak from so much rest, It leans it's head against the wall and softly pleads " Help me" It's voice has been silenced for so long. My heart catches in my chest, perhaps he didn't hear.

Too late! The man wields a sharp object. I can't allow him in; he might kill It completely!

He raises the object above his head and strikes the wall, causing a crack, then a small hole. Why can't I protect It? A beam of light pierces through, the oxygen so long denied gives strength as It rises to its feet to look out at see its rescuer.

"Please," I cry, "don't you remember the pain?"As the light streams in, I see It fully. I didn't realize how much It had grown. It pushes its hand through the crumbling gap in the wall. I turn my face away awaiting the inevitable rejection and the sound of breaking bones. Silence. I turn back to see its hand, gently held by his.

I repeat my caution: "He will leave; it never lasts." It looks at me, with eyes that were once innocent, now wise and determined. "Maybe you're wrong," It replies. "Maybe he's different. He has kind eyes."

I struggle to find an explanation to make It understand, I warn, "Now exposed, others might hurt you again."

"No," It insists. "He has moved to shield me; he's protecting me."

"I PROTECTED YOU!" I scream

With his free hand he has begun to chip away again at the wall, he will get through. I retreat to my dark corner, questioning myself. Was I wrong? I'm terrified for It. He will break through.

But he does have kind eyes.