He came to me sullen, dark-eyed and cynical, a prankster and unjoyous all at once. He was false smiles, unbridled hope,
curling brown hair and eyes opened wide by something I could never know. His skinny limbs were pale as the bone that made
them and his laughter, unrepentant, filled the void where mine was brief, reluctant. I want him back, my autumn-tempered
boy who cradled me through my hurts and promised me a lovelier world.
He swooped in while my heart was raw and wounded by happenstance and the revolting injustice magnified tenfold by
inexperience. I had it closed, sectioned off: one piece for father, another for mother, for puppy dogs and poetry and wonders.
He left me as slowly as he came, one hand holding on but already given up. When he slips from my memory his grip tightens
to remind me that I could have, should have, loved him—and didn't.
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