a closer look

I see a girl with curly red hair at the store and swear for half a hopeful second it could be her, some vague, tangled evidence of hope.
At bedtime I read the last page and close his book.  He reopens it, flipping to a certain page for a closer look.
Look, mom-mom, that ice cream cone look like a bird.  See?
You’re right buddy, it does. I do see now, I say.

He is still relatively new to the planet, still willing to believe in things he sees. And in things he cannot see.
I feel as though, through him, I’ve been offered another way of seeing.
And even with the lights dimmed and my own eyes at half mast, I see him, bright as a button and sharp as a pirate’s sword.  

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