Over the years, I've watched him grow. Through the baby stages to death. I've seen the struggles, the joy, the despair. It was all clear. He never gave a thought, that he wasn't alone in his room. He was never alone, I was there. I was there in the walls, the dirty carpet he refused to clean, in the posters, the holes, in that stinky boy smell he emitted as a teen. I was there for him, strong and sturdy as the walls. Comforted him as he sobbed on my carpet. I was his escape, his punishment. When he knew noone else was there, he would run to me. I was there.
I was there for his arrival. I…
