he’s clutching a fist full of craft sticks. it’s dinnertime and he finds me in the kitchen with music in my ears and songs on my lips.
“i’m gonna have to use all of these popsicle sticks… i’m so sorry momma, i’m gonna have to use them all.”
i laugh at his seriousness. his matter of factness he has about him when it comes to imagination and things only he can see with his mind.
“that’s ok. that’s what they’re for sweetie.”
later, while food bubbles on the stovetop, i watch him from the edge of the doorway. he’s on his belly in the shag carpet, piecing and stacking so carefully these craft sticks. everything has meaning and purpose.
i lean against the doorframe watching him for a long time. feeling like this future version of myself, peeking in on a teenager with a reminder to turn off the light and go to bed. this moment lingers with such a sweetness i can roll it around in my mouth. him nodding his head to himself, making his own music in his head, creating in his own way. i revel in his beauty, his way with imagination, his mind.
in five days i will hug this boy so tight. he will wear a necklace he made with his own two hands to keep us all close to his heart. i will whisper i love you and fight back the tears as i say goodbye to him until the end of august. a lifetime away.