Little Boy

 

Little boy, how you’ve grown!

So big and strong, so wise and funny.

My once-was infant is now a running, jumping, laughing child.

My little boy.

Little boy, oh how things have changed.

You were my one and only, as I was yours.

Now, you strut off on your own, brave, courageous path.

My little boy.

Little boy, how fast the time has flown.

In leaps and bounds you grew,

wishing you had wings.

If only I could give them to you,

I would.

My little boy.

Little boy, now and forever mine.

Together we are a pair.

And always will be no matter what time will bring us.

My little boy.

My little boy.

Naked Truth

I had an inkling or two.

I had an idea that you were not really who you said you were.

There was a moment or two I had my doubts. Moments when I had my suspicions.

But you put on such a good victim act. You had become such a great performer. A dazzling show for all to see. Everyone who came to view your wonderful act was taken in by the lights and mirrors. The hidden truths behind the veil of your talented performance.

And I’ll confess, I was baited and taken by you, too. Hook. Line. And sinker.

I was lucky, though. I figured it out in time. Before I was roped into a life with you permanently. Before I gave up my happiness because I was some how manipulated into believing I was a bad person for not working it out despite my unhappiness. For not sticking it out. For not sacrificing for you and your sad story when in reality I gave all I had until there was nothing left for me.

For my son.

These sacrifices were more than a real true love would never ask someone to make.

But now I know.

Now I see the naked truth.

Nostalgic

I’m not sure what it was.

Whether it was the lazy morning under the warm covers. The slight glimpse of a sunrise in the distance. Or the blanket of grey and full clouds that hung in the air with a foreboding sense of rain and winter.

My morning went as usual except with a layer of nostalgia hanging over me. A cloak of memories and visions of a past life.

The sounds of the M train clanking and clamoring along the road, the spark and fizz of the metal rod against the dual-wires over head. That San Francisco grey looming against the pavement, waking along with the feet of its people carrying a misty chill in its embrace. The mournful cry of a low foghorn from the bridge of gold echos across the city, lost in the dense shroud of fog. Those moments of sun breaking through the sensation dulling curtain of mist, rays of bright hope beaming down to warm us for a second.

I was suddenly 20 again. Full of hope and desire. Dreams and ambition. I had the whole world at my feet. So much to do and see, so many different paths to walk.

The color of my hair was suddenly boring. Memories of my technicolor days streamed through my mind: pink, purple and blue. The daring changes I so capriciously made in the name of being different. Of finding my own purpose.

As I slipped into the drivers seat, ready to venture forth and take on my day, the tunes on the airwaves did nothing for me and I was struck with a need for the anthems of my youth.

The simple melodies and the insightful lyrics enveloped me in my memories and I cruised along the road, fighting back the waves of regret and sadness. The feelings of loss and age. No more were the days of carelessness. Of freedom and of joy. The surprise of a later curfew. That special date with a boy you could barely look at without blushing. The days of “what if” and “when I grow up”.

I would never take back all the laughs and tears, the feelings of joy and of insecurities. Those days are gone and done, only to be reminisced over when the days are gloomy and my soul aches for the simple days. They are my map, my past.

They are forever apart of me.

Forever imprinted on my soul.