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Living with Luke 73

April 4, 2017

Sing, you beautiful boy. Sing as if your life depends upon it, just sing. You seem to know 95% of the words, making up the ones your active brain cant quite make out, but that’s more than enough. I’ll help you when I can, even though you don’t actually want me to. 

I’ll do it, because its a way in.

We’ve sung together before, and we’ll sing together again. I’ve sung to you and you’ve even appeared to listen – at least once or twice.

But you sing my boy. 

I love to hear it. Because to hear you sing gives me a strange peace. When I’m sitting here alone sometimes, and you’re in your room and you start singing…I stop and listen. It doesn’t matter what it is, theme song, a vocalisation of a film theme, nursery rhyme, Christmas song (in April), it really doesn’t matter. You’re just there, within touching distance, and I feel I can grab you and hold you, and never let you go. 

Because you’re right there in front of me…just there.

And you’re singing, my quiet Prince.

“Sing. And I’ll sing with you, my arms are open wide.”

My arms are, and will forever be open wide, waiting and hoping that one day I’ll be able to wrap them around you and have you return the hug. And all because I can hear you singing.

So you sing, my beautiful boy. Sing with a freedom that comes from your innocence. May you forever have that freedom to do exactly what you want to do.

And I’ll be right here, arms wide open, forever waiting for that day.

So sing, my Narnian Prince…

Sing.

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