Little boy I miss you, with your sudden smile and your ignorance of pain. You walked through life and devoured it with nothing but misty goals to keep you company. You wandered through quiet woods with friends and you where startled by a shuffling porcupine. Your heart beat mightily when you chased frogs and caught one to big for a single hand. There was no time for meaning. A marshmallow gave it on a sharpened stick. A jack knife in your pocket gave you comfort when your friends were gone. A flower hidden in the woods, behind an aging shriveled log. A dog who licked at your fingers and chewed at your jeans. A game of football that you didn’t expect, a glass of cider, a crickets cry.
When did you lose your eyes and ears. When did taste buds cease to tremble? Whence the sullenness, this mounting fear, this quarrel with life, demanding meaning?
That mounting fear is leisure’s bonus and it’s the pain that forbids you to be a boy.