Whoever you may be - a phantom of the city, a fog of the valley, a spirit of good intentions, however close you may be to me - as my own thoughts of life&death or as far away as the closest ocean - if you were to plant an idea into my head not so long ago about things "baby", I would have dug it out and handed it right back to you. I would probably have even wrapped it into pretty paper, taped it with a bow, so it could take longer for you to give it again, or more awkward. Yet today I receive packages of baby clothes, research alien concepts of diapers, prepare to exercise my brain with sign language, storm government websites about birth certificates, stare mindlessly at lists of names, I even subjected myself to a doctor ... So maybe now I will learn to flow, to accept, to flex and release, to grow, fall & rise and be happy with all of it. That sounds like a blast! Here's to take off!!!
o, boy
I just want out ...
I watch movies, and there are no couples in them with their own vocabulary. They don't seem real - in reality every couple has their own words and nicknames, personalized little piles of adorable mind-things. All those sounds and gestures, built up into a life of togetherness and love for each other. What happens to all those things when a split comes? Do all the emotions and little names puff into clouds and float away into a different galaxy? Do they pack their letters and move on to another couple who's just fallen in love? Or are their torn pieces hanging off the trees outside my window, squeaking in the wind, fading in the sun?
Tender togetherness
I watch movies, and there are no couples in them with their own vocabulary. They don't seem real - in reality every couple has their own words and nicknames, personalized little piles of adorable mind-things. All those sounds and gestures, built up into a life of togetherness and love for each other. What happens to all those things when a split comes? Do all the emotions and little names puff into clouds and float away into a different galaxy? Do they pack their letters and move on to another couple who's just fallen in love? Or are their torn pieces hanging off the trees outside my window, squeaking in the wind, fading in the sun?
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