I dreamt of you last night.
You were young.
Younger, even, than the day you left us.
Just a little boy,
like time had stopped for you,
Even though the world had continued to spin for me.
Like I was here,
in the now,
And you were there,
in the way back when.
Way back before it all went wrong.
Just a little boy,
Still scared of thunderstorms outside the window,
And a dark loneliness you felt inside.
You couldn’t sleep,
and you looked so sad.
God, it broke me into a thousand tiny pieces how sad you looked.
I wondered how does a little boy get so sad
when the world hasn’t even had time to wreck him yet?
I think you were born with a sixth sense, though.
A knowing that not all of us have.
A very heavy knowing.
I saw you lying down,
There on my bed,
Like you did before,
When lightening began to strike.
You were crying quietly,
And I curled up around you,
As best I could,
Even though it felt like you were falling.
I squeezed you tightly.
Kissed the top of your sweaty head.
Whispered lies about how it’s all okay.
Everything is going to be just fine.
