I was seeing a boy… amazingly young, 

playing with a small ball… yellow.

He was throwing it with all of his strength and he was running with a throbbing lungs to fetch it…

There was a harmony in his significant play. 

I think now in this age I can easily be his ball again…

Getting thrown for a false eternity and then getting fetched in between moving nights. 

But I don’t think I can ever be that boy again…

A murder happened long ago…on an evening when I realized I had to live for quantities. 

I can’t be that boy again.

……………………………………………………………………..

Painting: Val Britton.