Story of a boy

September 23, 2010

A small boy sits alone; shoulders bowed and head hung. Each breath he draws is held, filling his lungs with the darkness around him. With the fall of his chest a little more of his life leaves him. His hair falls lank and unkempt over his grimed face. Tears have carved their way over his cheeks; burning him while washing away the dirt.
As I sit and watch him, he slowly raises his head. Clear eyes, windows to his soul, show the agony he is living. He opens his mouth, silently screaming, uttering unknown horrors to the infinite dark.
But then the moment is gone. He is once again doubled with his burdens. Once again he is cut off from the passer-byes who do not stop, only pass and stare.

I cannot help but reach out to him; the distance seems so far, like a bottomless sea.Like a turbulent sea as I plunge my hand toward him, I feel waves crashing against me. Waves of despair, waves of crushed desire, waves of dead and dying happiness thrashing themselves on a sharp rocky shore.
My hand finally grips his shoulder. But as it does I am struck with the realization of who this boy is.
He is the child that you have raised within me. He is all I have ever wanted to be and to happen. This poor lone boy is my love for you; cast out and now left to suffer, but never die.

With the horror of knowledge unbound, I  retract my hand. I know that I could raise him, rear my love for you to be strong and unwavering. But what purpose would that serve if he were to never have a home.

And so I sit and write the story of a small boy sitting alone.


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