I am sunken low and depleted, for reasons, these reasons, those reasons, the other reasons, all of which bore even me. My boy is charming me, being cute and funny and papering over the widening cracks with tenderness.
He writes, bolstering me during the tedious day with email after email full of kindnesses and beauty. He ends one with:
“I miss you Ma’am and again I’m thinking about you sweetheart…”
The ‘sweetheart’ (sweetheart!) is unlike him, a terrible powerful sweetness, he is wrapping me up to care for me, pulling me into him, petting me gently, letting me know I am ok to rest there against him, small and partly broken and sad. I want to curl up there and try not to cry, I hate to cry, but sometimes a single tiny powerful terrible sweetness will draw it out.