change my mind so much i cant even trust it
It was dark; no stars, no moon, no streetlights.
the hospital was dirty in the way everything is in the winter. dirty and slushy and bare, but it's cold and wet so it's allowed to be that way. it's acceptibly dirty.
a mother was screming and crying and shouting. a baby was being born. father watched, watched blood and skin and teary eyes open to the world for the first time.
hugs and kisses and sighs and "we need to weigh her".
the baby in nurse's hands, and down a hall, and on a machine and crying and crying. 12 pounds. healthy baby girl.
can i hold her now?
no, you should rest.
lights shut off with automatic automated switch. mother can't sleep, thinking about baby. baby sleeps, thinking about mother.
lights come on and it's all different. all of it is.
can i kiss you everytime i realize i love you?
can we just try that?
she's 19 now, today. it's her birthday and he loves her, but she's far away. college. in the sun and papa zuzu and beaches and bottle caps and jazz. so he calls her and they talk and he says "i love you" to her for the first time. the first time he's said it aloud.
it was different when he was born. his mother pushed him out and held him untill she passed out and the nurses could take him away, put him in a bed, turn off the light.
he didn't cry, he smilled and whined, but never cried.
he was a boy.
he really did love her. she knew it. she loved him too.
things were just hard, and romeo, juliete. they were both dead.
we'll see. just kiss me now
and we'll see
the hospital was dirty in the way everything is in the winter. dirty and slushy and bare, but it's cold and wet so it's allowed to be that way. it's acceptibly dirty.
a mother was screming and crying and shouting. a baby was being born. father watched, watched blood and skin and teary eyes open to the world for the first time.
hugs and kisses and sighs and "we need to weigh her".
the baby in nurse's hands, and down a hall, and on a machine and crying and crying. 12 pounds. healthy baby girl.
can i hold her now?
no, you should rest.
lights shut off with automatic automated switch. mother can't sleep, thinking about baby. baby sleeps, thinking about mother.
lights come on and it's all different. all of it is.
can i kiss you everytime i realize i love you?
can we just try that?
she's 19 now, today. it's her birthday and he loves her, but she's far away. college. in the sun and papa zuzu and beaches and bottle caps and jazz. so he calls her and they talk and he says "i love you" to her for the first time. the first time he's said it aloud.
it was different when he was born. his mother pushed him out and held him untill she passed out and the nurses could take him away, put him in a bed, turn off the light.
he didn't cry, he smilled and whined, but never cried.
he was a boy.
he really did love her. she knew it. she loved him too.
things were just hard, and romeo, juliete. they were both dead.
we'll see. just kiss me now
and we'll see