fly so full of holes?
Do uncried tears wait in small lakes?
Or are they invisible rivers who run to sadness?
Where is the child I was,
still inside me or gone?
Why did we spend so much time
growing up only to separate?
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Where is the child I was,
still inside me or gone?
Still there, but obscured by the man I am and the child I am becoming by the grace of God.
i owned that book once, but gifted it away to a young man who lived the questions more than i. it was in both spanish and english. i am happy that you would be able to read both.
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