A small boy sits outside his home, waiting for his mother...

So, it begins…

Ronin PDX - Faces of Portland

{To my many followers, thank you. I see the light, I see the darkness, I’m one with the emptiness.}

A small child sits on the front steps of his home. He waits for his mother. As he waits, he sits and contemplates the reasons for everything. He stares into the single street lamp that dimly lights up the smaller of the two white concrete staircases leading to the front door. A charming home on a corner lot.

A small child, no older than seven, sits outside waiting for his mother.

It’s dark, it’s always dark. He focuses on that small green-metal lamp shining over the steps and ponders. He notices the bugs that gravitate toward it. He wonders about the connection between them and the light. A sense of belonging, a sense of wholesomeness. He waits for his mother.

A small child waits for his mother on the footsteps outside his home. He can hear the front screen door open and close behind him. It’s old, so it’s easily recognizable sound due to the flimsy aluminum used to make it. It wobbles as it opens and closes like a bridge in an earthquake. The small child feels the walkway with his bare hands. He slides his fingers across the ground, making note of the variations of rock embedded. His father sits beside him. “I know you wanted to see your mom, but she called. She’s unable to make it tonight. The small boy, is used to this. He says “OK

”, and slowly gets up to go inside. Maybe next time will be the time she comes to see me.

A small child sits outside in the dark alone, waiting for his mother. With no one to talk to inside, no one to play with, no one who seems to understand that all this little boy wants is to be loved and feel wanted. A little boy sits outside in the dark….

A little boy’s mother came to visit. A normal routine for this young boy was to riffle through his mother’s purse to find the cherished green mint gum. As the mother is a heavy smoker, she usually had a piece or two floating around. The thought of going through her purse was a little foreign to him. He sought for only the gum, never touched anything else. When that boy becomes a man, intrusive thoughts flood back into his mind whenever he opens his wife’s purse… maybe I’ll find a piece of gum…. I love you mom.

A little boy waits for his mom… alone in the dark.

The problem of being alone is not being alone, it’s the path of getting used to being alone that’s a problem.