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#6 (permalink) |
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New User
![]() Join Date: Dec 2012
Posts: 1
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He is mournful
as if he knew the place he fills is still tender. He is not my fawn colored nanny nor my ever patient friend. He cannot play the same games or know my favorite seat. He did not grow up with me and does not know her tricks. He will never be her, Maggie was just once, but he is Edgar. He is dark and lovely, looking scarier than he is. He is sorrowful and pained, melancholy of his namesake. He rests against me, somehow hurting too. I close my eyes and hug him tight, he is not Maggie, but he is Edgar.
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