Tiny plump fingers with dirty untrimmed nails drew blood from my face today. The same fingers that I’ve kissed no less than a thousand splendid times in his one year on earth, cut my face open when I dared to lean in and ask for a kiss back.
How can my heart love so desperately a thing which inherently, by simply existing, takes so tirelessly from me?
The answer is deeply simple and unendingly complex:
wholeheartedly, tirelessly, and without end.
