You look deep into my eyes and ask me to pray for sun tomorrow.
Tomorrow when you burry him.
I carefully fold the socks and the shoes and think about how these are their last moments above ground.
I see it in your eyes; you're barely hanging in there.
And I'm not sure how you're even still breathing.
And there are shoes everywhere.
People everywhere.
Inside the store is at least 7 degrees more humid than the rest of the mall.
And it's an off day.
I just want to sit down and cuddle you.
Cuddle you and your little feet.
Whisper stories of new beginnings.
Stories of the fun of school and learning.
I hate that those moments have been robbed from you.
When right now, right at this exciting new time, you lost someone.
Someone you really needed.
And my heart just breaks. Just breaks for you.
And it's an off day.
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