I am the girl who isn’t going to cry because I am stubborn, I am strong. I will not cry because I have friends and family and have no reason to cry – but when was the last time tears listened to reason? So instead I think of December 21 and August 15 and my pupils sting and my vision blurs and I fight not to let the tears get away from me and my blue-brown-green eyes.


Yet they do, and they are tears of invisibility that make me want to really cry long and hard with a computer before me and a box of tissues next to me. How hard can it be to remember a kind old man of ninety-two and a quiet boy, age fifteen? But the old man’s eyes are smiling at me and I can see truth reflected in the boy’s eyes.


Somehow, somewhere, and for some reason, I still carry a little bit of love for the boy, and I will always love the kind old man.

Always.