I get the f.ucking breath knocked out of me whenever I'm out in public and see a little boy your height and size with your pale blond hair. It happens surprisingly often, too often for my liking. My heartbeat pounds wildly and I can't focus on anything else in my surroundings until the child turns around and I get a look at his face and ascertain that it's not you. I think a new fissure appears in my fragile heart with every occurrence of this.
I don't know what the hell I would do if it was you. Run to you sobbing, probably. But that would startle you and alarm your mother, who never got a chance to know me and how much you, her son, meant to me. You likely wouldn't even remember me, and would burst into tears, but not for the same reason as me. And that would hurt me as much as the pain of losing you unexpectedly has.
Still, I hope endlessly for this chance encounter, and I hope by some miracle you will actually recognize me and greet me with the same angelic smile and light gentle kiss you used to, that warmed me to my very core. I want to believe that this small town's boundaries will eventually implode and nudge you back into my arms, if only for one more brief time. I want to believe that even if, against my fervent wishes, it never does, you will forever feel how much I love and care and pray for you. You were the purest thing ever to enter my life, and I will hold onto that blessing in a knuckle-whitening grip until the end of my days.
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