Begging to doze as the sun creeps awake. Melting into the warmth and radiating love from the skin-to-skin. I’ve never felt such joy.
A rising sun over a glaringly white beach. Hair of the dog and a greasy breakfast sandwich. “I think I’ll sleep right here.”
Dim lights at two am. Gentle bouncing and shushing in an attempt to lull a cacophonous infant.
In an alternate universe, Semisonic serenades us out as the house lights come on. “You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”
Matrescence erases many traces of the former self, but she is in there. I know it in the way I have to turn up the music until my ears feel like they’ll bleed and my body is forced into motion.
I know it in the way I yearn for escape. Tossing provisions and a tent in my car to head out on an indefinite adventure is no longer feasible. I compensate with long drives.
I feel her when I see a can of Steel Reserve and pass over it to grab a protein shake. My priorities shifted from ABV to BFP, and I’m better for it.
I carry the earlier version of myself, the one that made me, with love and adoration. She lies in wait, anticipating her resurrection. I charge ahead, observing the impulses fed by her desires and wondering whether to incorporate them or incinerate them.
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