The hot cocoa.

On a cold winter morning, the city slowly woke up.

A man was sitting on the sidewalk with his back against the wall.

His clothes were worn, his hands were blue from the cold.

In front of him is a half-empty paper cup with a few small things in it.

People walked past him, as they always did.

He didn't hurt anyone, he didn't ask for anything - he just sat and watched his breath.

it was like as if the only warm thing he possessed was his own breath.

Then a small child stopped in front of him.

He was holding a mug of steaming cocoa that his mother had bought him before school.

The child looked at the man, then at his mother.

"Mom, are his hands cold too?" he asked softly.

The mother was confused, but finally he just nodded.

The child bent down and placed the mug in front of the man.

"Here, I don't need that much." he said and smiled.

The man didn't speak for a long time.

He just looked at his hands, which were encircling the warm mug.

The steam rose slowly and its scent mingled in the morning air of the city.

Finally he spoke:

"Thanks… I thought so." my hands have forgotten how warm it is.

The little boy just nodded and then left with his mother.

The man clutched the cocoa in his hand, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't tremble.

It wasn't the cocoa that was important.

It's that someone finally noticed.

Lesson:

It's not the donation that gives warmth, it's the attention.

Most of the time, love is not in words, but in the fact that someone is not in a hurry.