Lonely Boy
Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting
Our hands are clasped together as we sit on the swings at the park. We try to stay in sync with each other but fail miserably, making us both laugh.
I like it when he smiles because then I know, at least for that moment, that he's okay. Every time I see him I want to ask him why he sees Mom, but hold myself back, not wanting to ruin his happy moments.
I work up all the courage I can muster knowing that if I don't do it now, I never will. "Rhett?"
He stops swinging, focusing his attention on me. He must have sensed something in my voice.
"Why do you go to therapy?" I take his hand again and squeeze it.
He smiles sadly and squeezes my hand in return and waits a few moments before speaking. "Depression."
"Oh, Rhett," I say and get up from my swing. He does the same, and I pull him into a hug.
I like it when he smiles because then I know, at least for that moment, that he's okay. Every time I see him I want to ask him why he sees Mom, but hold myself back, not wanting to ruin his happy moments.
I work up all the courage I can muster knowing that if I don't do it now, I never will. "Rhett?"
He stops swinging, focusing his attention on me. He must have sensed something in my voice.
"Why do you go to therapy?" I take his hand again and squeeze it.
He smiles sadly and squeezes my hand in return and waits a few moments before speaking. "Depression."
"Oh, Rhett," I say and get up from my swing. He does the same, and I pull him into a hug.