There he lay, sleeping gently, sleeping quietly
There he lay, awake, rubbing the sleep out of his little eyes with his little fists, blinded by the low sunrise
There he lay, meeting eyes with me, both of us simply staring at each other
Child, sweet boy, little infant, return to sleep, this world is much too blinding, much too loud, much too *****, for something so pure as you.
Do you even know? That someday, 17 years, you will be sitting where I am, perhaps having these same thoughts towards someone born 17 years after you?
That you could be riding an old yellow piece of scrap metal on wheels at 8 in the morning
The sun blinding you
The music pounding in your ears
The good morning text from your girlfriend?
No, no, little one, go sleep, return to your little infantile dream.
This world is too much for you.
It is too much for me.
The only difference is seventeen years.
Close your sweet little eyes.
Seventeen years.
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10:48
9/28/16