papa & boy.

a prayer, this rainy spring morn, some fourteen fridays on from our dove's journey earthward: when in some far off, too soon, someday his wings stretch too wide for this nest, may something stir inside him, something that feels a lot like memory, and hum soft notes of tend'rest days, his gentle beginning, when we belonged to each other so entirely, when the spaces between us were blurred, when the form of one faded into the other.