Sprinkles

This piece is a response to @Pencil and Persistence's wish to know the gnome's story.

Little gnome smiles lovingly as children giggle and circle around him.

Though short in stature, he is mighty with an expansive heart, wisdom and knowledge. He is respected amongst his circle of gnomes and warmly referred to as the Love Gnome.

But Love wasn’t always a carrier of locks that dreamt. When he first started out, he was like the rest of the crew; built in sturdy bronze to outlast catastrophic winds and sunny skies without sunscreen. His twelve-inch proportions originated from a place of whimsy and hope.

Love’s facial features carried a warmth, like ideal grandpas. Waiting, smiling, ready to offer a hug even when one has committed horrific acts. His watery eyes were enough to persuade even punctured cynics. Maybe, there could be a lapse of light in the perpetual dark, after all.

Some passersby prone to convenient thinking mistakenly assumed that Love was merely sugar without substance. The one who professes “love” to all but really none to anyone. The saccharin type of contact that is made from fraudulence with a nauseous finish.

Alas, the fleeting eyes had it all wrong about the Love Gnome. In reality, he was the King of the Heart zone. Through storms and snow, he appeared to be more than just a symbol. His platter with hooks served as an organic invitation to be the holder, a carrier of sorts.

Love has seen people come and go through the decades. He has bore witness to murders, torture and loss. Ripe for history books but devastating for the living and generations to come. Rage has drenched his hat. Salt tears sat on the crevices of his mouth. Dark shadows seeped through his battle-scarred beard. Each strand of hair carried the stench of blood. Ears that heard longings as hearts splattered on the ground next to him. Desperation sought gods as they pleaded, cried; day in, day out. But he continued to offer the desolate, a smile.

The pained only wished for such kindness. Some could not smile in return but felt a pinch of light sprinkles in the heart as their heavy soles trapesed on.

Love carried all the locks given to him by lovers who wanted their initials to be etched in the rainbow sky. He ungrudgingly wore them like crown jewels because he knew their origins of love came from deep atrocities. Though countries remained at war, there were lovers who continued to spark. He appreciated their effervescence because he knew that every hope also has bled tears.

The gift of being around for endless seasons is that he saw dawn, the in between state of despair and potential.