too many things can change so abruptly.
like my face vainly clinging to that smile of a funny joke, then it's gone because nothing is normal. i want this for her but this bubble of panic pops continuously as i consider doing anything at all.
last night i couldve collapsed if i had gone in there. laughing mouths full of intoxication and funny things to remember. i knew if i took one sip i would have been obliterated. the joys of hilarity are sparse when thrown from normality. it's a homesick feeling that i dont think i could ever get use to. so i went home where home wasnt home.
with her tiny hands she gripped my finger as i dressed her for the day, still dripping with suds from the splash bath she loved. all the world was wrapped in a red towel. all of me lying on the bathroom floor, tickling and laughing and loving so much.
she's gotten older and so have i. i was little more than a child myself, but i knew then that this little bundle of grabbing and tearing was the best thing that had ever happened to me. her laugh is my laugh.
she has every bit of his face. those dark, concealing eyes too playful for sitting still are so solid and cold when he wears them. an immediate contrast of the same color. i loved him in all the ways someone so young could, but i only knew so much of worldly things. i thought he was perfect...and so did he.
now there's a piece of me off juniper and my world has been tilted so far that everything is still normal but not at all. five days doesnt warrant much but when those five days drag on, each minute pulling five years, im lost to my own longing for her tiny hand in mine.
they say the little things are what's most important and i dont think i could feel that anymore than i do now. at night im in my room drawing and i hear a creek in the floorboards. i look up at the door as i usually do intending to see a little nightgown in the doorway. a little hand on the door knob with a little sleepy face looking over a little shoulder mumbling about mean rabbits chasing gubby. that's her giraffe, a blue one, her first one. the weight of her molding to me as i lift her into the nook of my own shoulder and the not wanting to put her down until i feel satisfied with numerous squeezes.
"tell me about the bird and the boy and the friendly monster..."
the bird, the boy, and the friendly monster met a tiny man in a considerably small glittering silver suit. when he laughed he laughed so hard and so loud that a huge swirling bubble blew out of his mouth. when it popped it turned into a million birds of every color and they flew far into the sky to dance with the moon and kiss the stars.
like my face vainly clinging to that smile of a funny joke, then it's gone because nothing is normal. i want this for her but this bubble of panic pops continuously as i consider doing anything at all.
last night i couldve collapsed if i had gone in there. laughing mouths full of intoxication and funny things to remember. i knew if i took one sip i would have been obliterated. the joys of hilarity are sparse when thrown from normality. it's a homesick feeling that i dont think i could ever get use to. so i went home where home wasnt home.
with her tiny hands she gripped my finger as i dressed her for the day, still dripping with suds from the splash bath she loved. all the world was wrapped in a red towel. all of me lying on the bathroom floor, tickling and laughing and loving so much.
she's gotten older and so have i. i was little more than a child myself, but i knew then that this little bundle of grabbing and tearing was the best thing that had ever happened to me. her laugh is my laugh.
she has every bit of his face. those dark, concealing eyes too playful for sitting still are so solid and cold when he wears them. an immediate contrast of the same color. i loved him in all the ways someone so young could, but i only knew so much of worldly things. i thought he was perfect...and so did he.
now there's a piece of me off juniper and my world has been tilted so far that everything is still normal but not at all. five days doesnt warrant much but when those five days drag on, each minute pulling five years, im lost to my own longing for her tiny hand in mine.
they say the little things are what's most important and i dont think i could feel that anymore than i do now. at night im in my room drawing and i hear a creek in the floorboards. i look up at the door as i usually do intending to see a little nightgown in the doorway. a little hand on the door knob with a little sleepy face looking over a little shoulder mumbling about mean rabbits chasing gubby. that's her giraffe, a blue one, her first one. the weight of her molding to me as i lift her into the nook of my own shoulder and the not wanting to put her down until i feel satisfied with numerous squeezes.
"tell me about the bird and the boy and the friendly monster..."
the bird, the boy, and the friendly monster met a tiny man in a considerably small glittering silver suit. when he laughed he laughed so hard and so loud that a huge swirling bubble blew out of his mouth. when it popped it turned into a million birds of every color and they flew far into the sky to dance with the moon and kiss the stars.
