Dakota Wolf and myself 2015, Dakota Wolf and myself 1996
time moves mysteriously and not the way we wrestle it into presentation: a clock face, rigid upright arrows, pointing directly at a fixed spot, which will predictably and irrevocably change to the next, predetermined spot. time means to me that this little boy and that young man above move in and out of each other's bodies like ghosts. the little blonde capped boy flickers across Dakota's face as he looks at me and when i close my eyes and press to kiss his cheek the rough stubble moves me suddenly into a room where my boy is rubbing his round cheeks and saying one day, he'll be a big boy and have hair face, momma, and his high giggle echoes as i open my eyes and look at the young man, still smiling at me, still in my belly, still in my arms, still in my lap, still clutching Pokemon figurines and carrying his card case, still furious and running from the house with his cell in one hand and shoes in the other, still yelling in the living room, eyes ablaze and hands trembling, still falling into my arms crying, still laughing in his bedroom with the door shut, still leaving and coming home, still home, always home, always my boy.
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