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kuangningTell me of the future, he says, his face open and his whole small body listening. Tell me how it's going to be. And he doesn't know it, and I don't know how to tell him, but all I can think of is the past.
Of a day and a night and a day filled with pain -- a hurting with a purpose, and a wetness that was and wasn't tears. A tiny, outraged cry.
Of a morning, and a tired smile, and not walking away. Of eyes of blue, and brown, and green. The grace in a touch. Meeting the night stars with screaming, and falling silent while they hung there, unmoved.
Of plans that turned into reality, but never the way we thought they would. Of new dreams, new realities we could never have dreamed. Of breathing in, and breathing out, and the triumph that just that breathing can be.
And then I know my answer, and I tell him life endures. And I know someday he'll understand.
Of a day and a night and a day filled with pain -- a hurting with a purpose, and a wetness that was and wasn't tears. A tiny, outraged cry.
Of a morning, and a tired smile, and not walking away. Of eyes of blue, and brown, and green. The grace in a touch. Meeting the night stars with screaming, and falling silent while they hung there, unmoved.
Of plans that turned into reality, but never the way we thought they would. Of new dreams, new realities we could never have dreamed. Of breathing in, and breathing out, and the triumph that just that breathing can be.
And then I know my answer, and I tell him life endures. And I know someday he'll understand.
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