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  • Like this smile. He is 13 and a half. I don't get to see this often enough but when I do it's a shot of magic. My blood turns silver and lighter than air and I want to put my face close to his, like when he was three years old and held still long enough for me to brush his cheek with mine. Lie close, feel his breathing, smell his little boy smell.

    His hair was so fine and so soft. His forehead so perfectly curved, so smooth. The place I loved to kiss most, feel the warm, round dome of his head under my lips.

    I really only learned how to love after I had my kids. I had no idea before. And then I had these two babies, and I realized... ohhhh. I get it now. This is love. This is what they mean.

    Over the years that learning has changed. First I learned how to love completely and utterly, with no reserve and no fear. No expectation. No separation between my being and their being. Then I learned how to love with space, with patience. With boundaries that were flexible and smooth and strong, like the mirrored and filmy surface of a bubble.

    Now I'm learning how to love from far away. How to let go and hold on at the same time. The circle is bigger but the clear bead is still at the centre. It still changes everything.
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