When I am hurt, I look inside. I try to find that little boy, hiding form the pain. He is huddled in the corner. He is holding something in his hands, hiding it behind his legs and under his head. I try to get closer to see what it is, but when I approach, he sinks farther into the corner. What is he holding on to? I don’t know. I want to know. I want to see. I want to have it. I want to take it from him, have it for myself. I move closer. He sinks deeper. Most of all, I just want to know.

‘Little boy…’

He won’t even look at me. He wants nothing to do with me. Haven’t I done enough to deserve him?

‘Little boy…’

He sinks deeper. What is he holding? I can’t even catch a glimpse. I can’t even imagine. It must be something; his hands are not empty.

‘Little boy…’

I know that he cannot leave. No matter how deep he sinks.

‘Little boy…’

For he never leaves the corner at all.

30.V.24