He’s coming! He’s coming! He’s coming!

The boy whooped and cheered as he dashed to the window, running.

I was soaked in his exhilaration, his anticipation, his animation.

In that nanosecond, I was gratefully immersed in his elation.

He was usually an ice cap, so the melting left my heart in a state of saccadic drumming.

I propelled him to the front door by gleefully warning, “Hurry, hurry, he’s coming, he’s coming!”

When the doorbell rang, he whispered, “Get it, get it!” as he splayed his body out between me and the door, wiggling and squiggling.

I placed my index finger to my mouth to shush him because he was incapable of controlling his playful giggling.

This tired, suited man put on a show as he feigned unawareness and strolled through the door,

and then dramatically tripped over the boy, two beautiful souls falling and sprawling all over the dusty floor.

They rolled and laughed together while the boy screeched in delight, asking the man to do it some more.

Then the boy jumped on top of the man and wrapped him up in his arms; the man’s jacket crumpled underneath him as he lay on his back, flat.

My heart was bursting as I watched and prayed that the boy would one day realize that sometimes true love is silly like that.