But my thoughts have become more geometric... out of necessity. I guess when a thorn is removed, you can't paint with blood anymore.
I can't seem to see anymore. I can't see how I used to.
But the other day, I was walking up the concrete steps to our door and I smelled the concrete and the dust and the lingering cigarette smoke and I felt how the smell reached deep inside and pulled out a vague memory. So vague, all I could remember was emotion; a certain way my soul was settled on days that smell was layered in my mind. It was peaceful, young and full of exploration and curiosity.
I rejoice for my son and the days he will know that feeling.
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