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2020-10-05T12:36:33-04:00October 5th, 2020|Parenthood|

The foreboding semantics of having a crush

My son tells me
about his crush
and it occurs to me
for the first time
that it’s not called
a flutter.

It’s called
a crush.

As in,
to pulverize.

I consider telling him
about my linguistic epiphany,
and how the floating sensation
he has now will likely be replaced
one day by stacks of concrete
pressing down
on his heart.

As in,
to squash.

As in,
to flatten.

As in,
to mash to a pulp.

But, of course,
I don’t tell him this.

I put the pin away
and I smile
as he holds on to the balloon
of his emotions,
believing
as we all have,
that he will hold on
just like that
forever.

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