The Broken Window.

"Some things are broken. And some things are not broken."

One evening there was a clanking sound.

Glass broke.

Drawers opened.

A strange voice demanded.

The walls saw it.

The furniture listened.

The house did not defend itself — it was only a witness.

The man who came in was looking for money.

He was looking for gold.

Something that could be taken away.

But what he did not see remained.

He did not see the patience of the years in the walls.

He did not see the memories that cannot be pocketed.

He did not see the silence that is not born of fear, but of holding on.

The window broke.

The glass fell.

The phone broke.

The objects were gone.

But the house did not betray its heart.

Because the real value was not in the drawer.

But in the fact that the person who lives there got up in the morning and did not look at the world with hatred.

The mess can be repaired.

The glass can be replaced.

The lock can be changed.

But goodness — if it remains after a night like this — is the greatest victory.

Not because no evil happened.

But because evil could not change its direction.

The burglar took objects.

But he did not take away dignity.

And when the cardboard was put up in the place of the window, it was not poverty that was visible on it.

But it was because someone said:

"What is important is here."

Because the house is not safe from the glass.

But from the person who lives in it.

And the person who does not become suspicious because he was once deceived — is stronger than the one who catches a snitch.