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By a freshly dug grave, a little broken boy sat. His puppet strings were cut and his heart too full. He raised his eyes to look above. They had told him that’s where she was now. She’s …up. That didn’t feel right. She was still here- with him. Love remains, love is determined. She was in fresh baked cookies and warm hugs. She was in laughter and smiles and cocoa-filled mugs. He felt her with every breath, every day. She couldn’t have gone away; she said she’d always be near, wouldn’t ever leave. She had held his hand when she said that. His mommy wouldn’t lie. He looked at the clouds, but he addressed his heart, that was her real home after all. A quiet whisper on the wind as the child says,
“This life, I live it for you.”
Years pass, and Stiles, the boy by the grave, grows. He becomes tall, lanky, and freckled. His eyes grow sharp, but his smiles remain the same. He learns pain, but he remembers love. This little, lonely boy watches his father’s back become bent and his eyes stay sad. The boy sees disappointment color his father’s face. They don’t talk as they should, not about what matters. A space grows between the two, forged from fear. Words cannot cross this chasm without becoming tangled with loss. Love remains, love is determined. They still spend days and meals together. They still grow and laugh with the other. They are still so dear to the other. In the morning, while his burdened father sleeps, Stiles approaches with a sigh.
“This life, I live it for you.”
Another year comes, and now the boy must run. He runs from wolves and with wolves. Scott, his truest friend, is a superhero. He needs a sidekick, and Stiles will take that role. It means being afraid more than he’s happy and wondering, in the night, when death will find his hiding place. He hopes to have a few more years. He hopes to stop running. He runs with Scott, but watches as Scott always runs ahead. Scott is the hero after all. Is he happy with his place? He can't be sure. Love remains, love is determined. He sees so much good in Scott, so much he admires. He will face every threat for the sake of this friend, for this friendship. He needs it more than he’s willing to admit. So, as they run he lets himself think with a glance and a grin,
“This life, I live it for you.”
The man who only knows pain enters their life. Now, he runs with them. The boy and the man run together and, for too long, from each other. They circle and spat, all the while ignoring what has begun between them. They each know loss, and shut out what promises more. They know pain too intimately, and happiness is a stranger. Love stays, love is determined. Its tendrils weave into every conversation and, soon, every thought. Anger flees, but stares stay heated. Derek’s face learns again what it means to smile, and the boy learns to share. Not just speaking, but what he feels, truly communicating. He shares the terror and despair, but also shares the empathy and need. They find love and learn strength. In the dead of night, the boy pulls his body up and looks at the man. He murmurs, nearly asleep,
“This life, I live it for you.”
In the dark, he hears the reply that he didn’t realize he awaited.
“This life, I’ll share it with you.”