The boy shares a story with me and then wanders back into his cave.
It is dark inside and there are no torches nor candles that can be used to light a path but I press on, calling out to him.
He doesn’t answer so I start talking and tell him I know he is listening.
The darkness is blacker than night and I am consistently shocked by how it seems to eat stars and anything that might shine.
“I will go into the depths of hell and I will find you.”
“Stay out, you can’t do anything.”
He is right about some of it, I can’t do nearly enough but he forgets who he is talking to.
Once upon a time I was his hero but that is not why I am doing this. It is only significant to me because if I can get him to remember that time and believe I can pull him back out.
Or so I have convinced myself though I really don’t know if it is true. But I don’t know how to do anything other than try and so I push ahead.
Into the depths of hell, hoping I figure it out as I go.
Wasn’t it easier when they were younger?
Yes, so much easier.