†When we were kids you said you were afraid of the devil coming for you in the night. Clutching my knees to my chest, how could He touch your precious unmarked face? Hold on to the embrace of your mother in your remodeled kitchen washed in afternoon sun.
Lying on the floor and smelling the carpet, I contemplate what it's like to die. This twelve year old boy watches from the third story window as the sun sets over the hill.
He does not come where He's not invited.
†
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