As his shoulders inch above my own, I sit reminiscent of a baby who has become a young man.

Trails of puberty dust his chin and hug his top lip.

Hair pools above his cheeks in disheveled locs.

His skin rich, spotted in adolescence and dipped in chocolate.

His heart, forgiving and gracious.

My Ben.

I hope he knows that he is loved.

I pray that he allows love.

I hope above all, he chooses, love.



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