ii.
He crawls and he walks and he runs, and these supposed great milestones come with ease. She laughs like you are her son, even though her hair is tinted more and she is free to dance in the sun. She laughs when he asks what words mean (a laugh at the world not at him) and cries and tells him of fragmented days spent hunched over a screen and looking at a monster. She thinks it might be a part of him now, as he is cobbled together by all things with kindness as his glue. He thinks she kisses his forehead out of some nostalgia.
Not that he knows what it means.
He thinks.
She speaks.
He learns.
She calls him 'human in all ways'. He doesn't know what that means either.