Cease. Desist. Resist. . . you wish.

Sometimes when she's being uptight and silly I want to jump her, throw her to the grass in front of her house and just hold her there- without being afraid she'll get angry.

I want to greet him with a hug. To kiss that back corner of his jawbone, where his whole face comes together. I don't want to be scared to touch him.

I wish I could let her cry and tell her that there are people who love her. That everything always turns out right. That if it isn't alright- it's not the end. It's too bad we aren't that close.

When we share a seat and he isn't being anyone but himself, I like to breathe him in. It's like the person he actually is without losing his passion. I should tell him that he'll be happy one day. But he might not.

All those times he shows up, every moment of melodrama he shares, I want to tell him in no uncertian terms to leave me alone until he has grown up. Except that would require speaking up.

If only I could tell him that he's a new person. That from here on out he could be himself- that he even knows who he is. He's still a young boy on the inside, and his skin is not quite his own yet.

-- G 'Bye, Sonya --

. ( 2.12.03 ) .