There he is.
You know he's there,
you've been watching him all day,
and so you know where he is.
Sometimes it comes as a surprise,
but most of the time
you know where he is.
He's still learning.
He's literally learning everything,
because that's what's happening;
everything's new to him.
And most of the time
he loves it.
He loves exploring,
and o god it fills you with joy
knowing how he sees wonder
everywhere.
But then he cries.
Sometimes it isn't obvious
and sometimes it is.
Sometimes,
sometimes,
it's that simple reason,
that he slipped,
or was knocked over,
or tripped,
or in all other words
fell.
And he cries.
He cries like it's the end of the world.
It's the first language we all learn,
the first thing we assume we know,
that the end of the world has come,
again.
And it's like that
over and over again,
and you have to remember,
this is his life,
this is how he's experiencing,
how he's learning,
the world.
And somehow,
it's the end of the world
every day.
And he gets right back up,
sometimes with a little help,
sometimes with a lot,
but he gets right back up,
and then it's another day,
and another,
and he's learning,
and he's growing,
and the world begins
to lurch a little less.
But every now and again,
the world ends again.
And you give him what you can,
you give him love.
Because that's what you do
when the world ends.
What else could there be?
Eventually he will dust himself off,
and it won't be so bad,
and he won't hardly cry at all.
Then, of course,
when he does,
you continue to love him.
Because that's the way the world ends.
