This river. The same color as the night sky. The strength of a human heart, beating. One person drawing breath. The point where these things meet. Joined. Off there in the distance.
I will sleep now, and I hope to dream of my son, death took him from me. In this dream I hope to see his smile once again, to hear his laugh, and to take him in my arms. A father embracing his son. I am no fool. I know, of course, the difference between a dream and reality, but forgive me, for there is no other way for me to have these simple pleasures. Only in a dream can a father look his dead son in the eyes and say, “I love you.”