I sit in the darkness perfectly unhappy.
He rocked back-and-forth using only his stomach muscles to push his face close enough to the window to see the street below. And when he exhaled the chair would float backwards and the sidewalk would slowly descend below the windowsill. Once again he was left alone to stroke the wooden arms rubbed smooth by his grandmother for a thousand years. In this moment of rest he could hear the boy below, his rubber soles twisting gravel into sand and the occasional, “I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feeeeeeeeeel love,” high pitched and sincere. As the ginkgo leaves fluttered he crunched his tummy for the seventh time. His gentle smile slow-dollied towards the vanilla scented curtains. And for another glorious moment he would watch him dance, so smooth and happy was the boy on St. Augustine grass.