He chased them up and down stairs, through a house, down a path.
I could hear their bare feet slapping on stone and cement,
and I remembered my own feet slapping against the ground thirty years ago.
I smiled at their giggles while they ran from the lens.
It was my first real smile that day,
and then I wept.
I did not believe that I would ever hear my own feet slap on the pavement like that again.
I ate an apple and went to bed
to hide from the demon nostalgia.
Life is tiny heartbreaks
broken by tiny feet,
and sometimes only dreaming stops the pat pat pat.