Okay, maybe you are not that little, standing at six feet tall. I do enjoy the man you are becoming, but there are moments when I whisk back in time where blankets and chairs were forts fit for kings.
I see the little boy, who slips his small, soft fingers in-between mine as we count steps and jump cracks careful not to break our mother’s backs.
We laugh until our bellies ache and wrestle while the cookies bake. I miss him sometimes. The child. The boy.
I look at your manly face, taking in the defined cheekbones and wisps of hair on your chin. I search for a glimpse.
Where did he go? It seems like just yesterday, we put angels in the snow.
Then, there, I see it. Deep within the blue, the eyes of the child, the boy I once knew.
How can my heart be in two places at once? I celebrate the man you are becoming and, at the same time, grieve the loss of the boy you once were.
My heart blushes with the uncomfortable presence of both joy and grief. My soul holds both fire and ice. How can this be?
I preserve within my heart, the memories and moments of mother and child. As the sands shift and seasons stir, I hope, for what will become of us, but more, for what will become of you.
We’ve walked side-by-side, on the same path, you and I. But the time has come, where a trail whispers for me, and another calls to you.
We’ve come to a path, split into two, those deep blue eyes, sparkle anew.
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