I love him. ( A mantra, sooner than an answer. At times, threadbare and lost and drifting like sand between his fingertips, he feels compelled to whisper it — for himself. His own ears.
He loves this man. Loves that which only he may provide, the joy, the care, the excruciating kindness. His exuberance.
Click of his shoes on the road is tinny, wrong. He feels, in how quickly and well he has made peace with his sentiments, dissonant and violent in this world. )
He has died once before me. Sixteen years unworthy of living.
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I love him. ( A mantra, sooner than an answer. At times, threadbare and lost and drifting like sand between his fingertips, he feels compelled to whisper it — for himself. His own ears.
He loves this man. Loves that which only he may provide, the joy, the care, the excruciating kindness. His exuberance.
Click of his shoes on the road is tinny, wrong. He feels, in how quickly and well he has made peace with his sentiments, dissonant and violent in this world. )
He has died once before me. Sixteen years unworthy of living.