He was always a tender being. Or at least, that is how I’ve always seen him. Masked, he hides his tenderness. A boy-man. A treasured child. Things are broken for him, it seems. He is loved. That must help. But will he talk, will he unburden the burden he carries. Those sins of the forefathers. He is clean of it. I try to reach him. A little. He doesn’t want it. He closes off. I understand. I tread more carefully these days. Respecting another’s privacy and need to grieve. Is that it? Is is grief? Hold him. Please.
