World of Men

That night I crept into my sons’ bedroom. None of them had bathed, and they smelled of sweat and earth and anger. I sat for nearly an hour on the edge of their bed and watched them sleep. How I wished I could keep them in the world that I knew and loved. How I wished I could hold them as I did when they were toddlers and rest my cheek against their curls and breathe in their childlike sweetness. I longed for those tender moments when I nursed them by candlelight in the quiet solitude of a dark and early morning. But they were being rapidly drawn into a coarse, violent world.

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