When April is over.

Can you hear me whisper above the white noise of endless therapies and appointments with clever people, who know how to fix that, which is (apparently) broken within you?

Hear me, sweet boy of mine:

“You are not broken. You are a sweet perfection that the world could never truly appreciate. Never in a year of Aprils could they ever see the beauty that is the gift of you.”

Published by

Liezel Graham

Wife. Mum. Lover of words. Lover of the Word. Writer of stories. I drink too much coffee and dream improbably big dreams. The quintessentially weird kid, all grown up and (still) finding refuge in books and words.

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