It must have been the way that my brow furrowed, or the paint smelled, or how I bent low to the ground where he always is that caused my boy's love to percolate a little stronger, a bit richer than usual. As I leaned in to inspect the final swipe of paint on the Adirondack, he came close, locked eyes, dispensed a tender kiss and whispered in my left ear: "I'll never forget you."
Nor I you, boy. Nor I you.
Savor your delicious life,