The clay could become anything – a smile, a dream, or a handful of sunshine.

The clay in my hand became a boy like me.

I wrapped you in a soft, lilac blanket, and I held your hands while you learned to take your first steps.

 For some time, even when I grew up into an adult in my twenties, I tiptoed to your bedroom in the mornings while you were still sleeping. I was always looking for a pair of wings that you had forgotten to hide while you slept.

I think, every day, I was more surprised to find that they weren't there.

You were my world.

You were the spring sunshine to my frozen rooftops; you were the long-awaited raindrops on my parched ground.

You were the miraculous flower that bloomed in the deserts. You were like that, always, like a lone candle in the darkness to show me the day.

We were boys who grew with each other, withstanding storms and draughts.

Wilted petals blew away in the harsh winds and I was left alone – but there, there you still were, with a soft, lilac blanket for my sagged shoulders.

And one day, we became men who grew for each other.

Take me to the stars, I whispered – selfishly, with all the greed in the world.

But you just smiled that unbelievably beautiful smile.

And you did.

Sometimes, I wondered whether you would hold a handful of clay of your own, and I wondered what would become of it.

More recently, I am starting to think that you did – and that clay had become me.

If you hadn't, how could one person change me so much?

For, I taught you to walk –

But you taught me to love.