larry was 6. Brought up in love and care, the gentle arms of love soft yet firm holds him tightly to the chest of the father. larry never misses a saturday of breakfast with James. James was not wealthy, never made it past the 6th grade holds a modest job, living just enough to make ends meet. what he had though was a heart for his child. The years would pass, just as time holds true, larry would seldom call back in the fall the night. The saturdays together were rare and often silent. James would sit on the coffee table by the corner of his apartment, just beside the window where the tree that he had planted once with larry was once alive and was to james as much the symbol of hope as the cross was to the priest. But as time has its way, leaves begin to fall as nature takes its course, almost reminiscent of the faltering love he holds for his son. the coffee was stale. warm but cold, smooth but rough.
1 corinthian 13
it doesn’t always have to be from the father. it takes 2 hand to clap.
Love.
