June 13, 2017
It’s comforting to think of stars as twinkling ornaments of the night, rather than admit they’re un-romantic, exploding spaceballs.
As you take your first step towards independence, my son, our little world will suffer a seismic somersault. You fell from the sky into our arms and while we indulged in the languorous delight of your intro to life, the eternal entity, ravenous as always, waited for no one. Time has called for you to grow accustomed to leaving the nest so you can walk in the path of your fortune, while we watch, disbelieving that what so recently was ours, in the blink of an eye, was not.
The journey to discover your purpose of being begins at school tomorrow.
You’ll always have us to fall back upon, even as you’re swept with the tide of mankind that will drift you ever further away from hearth and home.
You’ll make us proud; you’ll break our hearts; you’ll love us dearly and you’ll turn away if your passion persuades you so.
You’ll grow, you’ll learn, and you’ll be better than we ever could muster.
You’ll let go of our fingers and then, you’ll belong to the world.
It was only yesterday that I grew up in an instant when I first held you. It was mere moments ago that you would wake us with endearing babbling and so many fluttering kisses. But, I digress.
It’s comforting to think of you as our very own star, our infant unto infinity, for fear of admitting you’re no more ours than the air we breathe and every moment we cling to you is simply borrowed from a long goodbye.
