albert navarro

albert navarro was a kid who lived on my street, back when i was more of a kid then a man. he liked birds and trains. his mother would always make him breakfast before class. he'd say, "did your mom make you breakfast?" and i'd say, "i don't have a mom, asshole." and he'd go on about his mother's breakfast and i'd just walk away. i found a notebook of his a few days after he died. i didn't know he kept one, but he did. i found this in it:


i love you, little hands, you keep my face safe
i love you, tiny feet, you send me quick to escape
i love you, skinny arms, you let me wrap the cold
i love you, clumsy legs, you give me control
i love you, and want to love you



i could never write like that. but he was that kind of kid, i guess.