he saw him in his dreams, the son that never was.
a little dusty-colored boy with piercing yellow eyes that carved into boone's soul. his laugh is sweet as molasses, and his smile is gap-toothed, and his face is perfectly cradled by rivulets of feathery fur.
boone watches as the boy pulls his first salmon from the water and laughs at the muddy tracks he leaves in the grass. he smiles at him with pride when he hears his hot-honey accent in his word. he tells him stories of his granddaddy from many years ago. he hugs him every night before he sleeps.
when he wakes, the feeling of warmth is slow to dissolve at first, until he blinks the sleepiness from his eyes. the grief pushes down on his chest.
where did his boy go?
that morning, as he is forcefully yanked from the dandelion-gold tendrils of sleep, he whispers a name he had never before spoken aloud:
a little dusty-colored boy with piercing yellow eyes that carved into boone's soul. his laugh is sweet as molasses, and his smile is gap-toothed, and his face is perfectly cradled by rivulets of feathery fur.
boone watches as the boy pulls his first salmon from the water and laughs at the muddy tracks he leaves in the grass. he smiles at him with pride when he hears his hot-honey accent in his word. he tells him stories of his granddaddy from many years ago. he hugs him every night before he sleeps.
when he wakes, the feeling of warmth is slow to dissolve at first, until he blinks the sleepiness from his eyes. the grief pushes down on his chest.
where did his boy go?
that morning, as he is forcefully yanked from the dandelion-gold tendrils of sleep, he whispers a name he had never before spoken aloud:
beckett.
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »