I walked him over the hills every Sunday


They called the boy funny, difficult, yet cute


His eyes bore into mine hearing his pain, yet mute


No past to ever speak of


Found during a trip alone, only He knows what he endured


To return to me in my loneliness


To find each other as we were both healing


By anothers pain


I lost him when he was 8


Let me pretend that it’s not too late, is it he who came back? Maybe its Jack...

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