When I see this boy’s face, I think of you.
There you are, smiling at me on the news. It reminds me that I miss you.
And then I think about how I’m glad you’re not here anymore.
I hated teaching you about safety seats on the bus. When you were here, I worried, because you’re good but they’re not. I wondered when the immunity would break.
When you left I missed you, I felt a void I hadn’t had time to expect, and now that a kidnapping war has started, I’m just glad you’re not here anymore.
Your love is innocent, consisting of shaggy-haired naivete and smiling blue-gray eyes, and a face that reads, “Love me back.” And I think we all did while you stayed here. All except the few that would have hurt you.
This boy’s face slaps me hard because there you are, staring back at me.
And then all I can think about is how I wish I didn’t see this boy’s face at all.