I loved a boy who was beaten down. I thought my love and care would teach him self love and self worth.
I loved a boy who was criticized and neglected. I thought my praise and attention would make him feel seen and heard.
I loved a boy who was shamed and rejected. I thought my empathy and inclusion would raise him up.
My boy grew up and he grew bored with my care, with my presence, with my kindness, and thought he knew a better way to live.
His hubris in believing I was so easily replaced, made him a lonely prisoner in a drafty house where only his memories keep him company.
He would make flying monkeys of everyone we knew but his grasp at control only shows how sick a narcissist he is.
His flying monkey is young, and gentle, and certain to grow wise…with time.
Then the boy I loved, who is now a man, will know what loneliness truly is.