Perspective

Boys spark the imagination.

I mean the ones who have only recently become men. The ones who seem unaccostommed to their beards, and the squareness of their shoulders.

I used to try on the skin of their girlfriends. Of the girl who woke up, perhaps, beside that sleepy boy. Or who broke up with the tall, lean one, who always thrust his hands in his pockets. I used to look at a boy's hands, and feel his touch on some other woman's skin.

I would gauge whether he could break her heart.

These days, my vision is stronger. I see into the past, to smaller hands, reaching up. To bike-riding lessons. To playground days and sleepless nights. I see boys as their mothers see them.

From this perspective, you feel the heart break every time.