Her frail hands tremble, spilling chamomile tea next to her rocking chair. Poor Grandma, if only her hands were smooth and arthritis-free. She doesn’t mind; her speckled hands have fed her family, smoothed down her grandkids’ hair, and wiped away thousands of tears.

They skip down a cozy boulevard, giggling and jostling each other in lighthearted banter. I’ve never seen a closer pair of best friends. He pats his left pocket discreetly – he plans on confessing his love to her tonight with the gift of a promise ring.

She twirls under the ferocious deluge, lifting her face to meet the sweet rainwater. How carefree she must be! Storms were her best friend’s favorite weather before gun violence took her life.

He holds a teary-eyed young woman tight under a fancy restaurant’s archway. Doesn’t he have a girlfriend? His beloved little sister had come to surprise him after three years in active duty.

They sprint from the bus stop to their apartment every day after school. That’s strange, nobody’s that excited to go home. They must check on their father in case he overdosed again.

She lingers in front of every mirror, staring at the pale reflection. I can’t imagine being so self-absorbed. She’s checking if her legs look thinner than they did yesterday.

He’s perched halfway up a tall oak, gazing over the tranquil waters and the amber sun. He seems so blissfully content! The last two months have been tough, but this sunset has opened his eyes to a different outlook on life.

They wander on the sidewalk with their heads down, or up, or staring into space. He’s anxiously awaiting his wife’s CT scan; she’s just finished the toughest exam of her academic career; they’re about to surprise their friend with a birthday bash. It’s her first day in this city, she’s lost but scared to ask strangers for help. He doesn’t know that his foster parents will receive adoption papers in the mail tomorrow morning. She almost took her own life last night; no one knew about the pills trembling in her sweaty palm. Today, he hasn't felt this happy in a long, long, time.

Pictures may tell stories, but only with the thousand words that float above a deep abyss of tales untold. Each person carries a burden on their shoulders – invisible at first glance, but they are really, truly there. 8 billion hearts in this world beat for 8 billion pasts and 8 billion futures. We only observe what is apparent at the moment, but we remain ignorant of what has come before and what will happen to the owners of these 8 billion hearts. Strive to treat the hearts with compassion, for you do not see their striated scars, healed or raw or even a combination of both.

Care for 8 billion hearts and they will care for you.