Childhood storm

some storms

start

in childhood

and they don’t stop

just because

the sky looks clear.

he laughs

with the same mouth

that once

learned to stay silent.

he loves

with hands

still trembling

from the past.

I try to hold him

but his memories

pull him

backward

like an undertow.

and sometimes

I wonder

if love

is enough

to save a boy

still running

from a house

that no longer exists

but still burns

in his mind.

I stay anyway.

even when he can’t see me

through the smoke.

—

for the one

I can’t fix

but will never

stop loving.