But I couldn’t.  I know what he wanted.  I know he wanted me to cross the road, the river, to come to him…to be there…now.

Come here…


Maybe he didn’t truly know what that meant for me, but I knew…and I wasn’t ready.

“Maybe…just maybe…you could come to me…come here.”  I patted the gravel in front of me with my palms.  “Here…here, Hector.  Come to daddy, good boy.”

He didn’t tilt his head or move in any way, and that answered my question.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)