young boy
The young boy sat there. The boy rocked in his seat and wore deep grooves in the necklace his mother gave him as a younger boy. He sometimes would slip the necklace off his neck at night and cuddle it closely to his chest though not too often, he was afraid he’d lose it.
The young boy stood in his room. Standing in the middle of the room, rubbing his feet against the carpet, wearing the carpet to a fine, lint like fabric beneath his feet. He rubbed the carpet his parents laid when he turned of age to pieces, strands of fine hair covered in rocks and spots of dirt from outside.
The old man stood and watched the young man do these things, and he didn’t stop him, the young boy needed to learn from experience. The young boy needed to be allowed to be free. The young boy needed to be free again. The old man needed to be young again.
