a letter to my son

I read my writing tonight. I revisited a past I find hard to believe is my own.
How fragmented my spirit was. Searching in vain for something profound,
An answer not my own. I wonder who she was. So in need of love.
Unsure where to find it. I don't begin to claim to know
The writings for tomorrow. Nor am I tempted by the offer of a glimpse.
I ask, though, that your eyes continue to glow with the joy that drives your laughter.
That drives the endless possibilities in the palm of your hands.
Dream, for life is too precious to rely solely on the physical. We are creatures
Bound by our form but freed by our mind.
Find happiness. Know what happiness is. Through all the excess noise
Produced by our hands, happiness lies where you cannot touch.
Understand where you came from before you set the stones to your path.
When the rules to your road become clear, do not be afraid to break them,
But remember to give back to the community that nurtures you.
And respect the world that allows you to bloom.
Love, dear child. Love deeply, even if at times it feels like sorrow veils all.
It is only with an open heart that you will be able to define life beyond
Sequences of events measured by time. I hope that your life is an education.
That you may read your writing one day and recognize the lessons
In your every footstep. Like I have. I can only walk with you for so long.
And it is this reality that makes me sigh anxiously. Our roads are not parallel.
The day will come when I have given all that I should give. My voice may linger and echo
But choice belongs to you. Do not take that privilege for granted.
My hopes lie with you. Not for your gains, but for what forms at the core
Of your spirit. I hope it smiles. I hope it dances without inhibition.
And when your synapses seem lost, know that within life's unsteady frequencies,
That, my son, you are loved.
May that mean something to you, always.