Curiosity was his best dress,
It best matched his green eyes,
A vast land of questions,
As if she had all the answers memorized.

"How do tears form?

From where do they come?

Is sadness a cloudy sky

And rain drops run one by one?

His analysis of his mother's breakdowns,
It was his favorite past time hobby,
While all the kids ran around in backyards,
He'd make theories on her sobbing.

"Are there different forms of crying?

On a scale of silent tears

to gut wrenching sobs,

The louder, the more sadness domineers?"

Every night he'd put his hand under her pillow,
He said he never wants her tears to go to waste,
Her broken heart mended to be broken again,
As she watched her 7 year old discover the world's sombre face.

"Does someone ever run out of tears?

Or does crying ever lose its meaning,

Can something only choose to be happy,

Or would it be called cheating?"

Sometimes she wished for a solitary evening,
When she could follow with her demise,
But every time she'd thank God,
For giving her a 7 year old of the best kind.

And for once she replied

"Did you know that heroes came 

in all forms, shapes, and size,

And before dusk turns into reality,

Wounds can be healed one last time."


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