I wake up and there’s someone besides me who shares the same bed…
Someone that I know so profoundly to the point that I can see through them…
With them by my side, my worst fears of being alone in the face of calamity are far gone…
They are as imperfect as sleeping creatures can be, drool and all…
Yet that doesn’t prevent my heart from smiling when it is reminded by their presence…
The smile subsides as the daydream of mine evaporates leaving me to my reality.

I am holding my child close to my body,
Whispering to him all my prayers and wishes…
I think of the letter that I wrote to him the day before,
And the one that I would be writing him later today…
I try my best not to strangle him with affection,
but sometimes I can’t help it…
I need him far more than he needs me…
I want to give him everything that I wasn’t given…
Through him the little boy that is inside of me lives out the security of a safe childhood…
I do this all whilst remembering Gibran’s ‘Your Children aren’t your children’ , the creed of not overdoing parenting…
Suddenly the warmth of his body fades away and my childless mundane comes to focus.

I spend time in the tiny porch of the tiny house that I own,
Surrounded by greenery and nature and miles away from the nearest human existence…
The smell of breakfast and coffee still lingers in the background…
Everything in that tiny house exists for a purpose, and possessions are kept to a bare minimum.
One has finally mastered the art of being content with simple.
My partner and my child are there…
I observe them and my heart feels its all familiar mixture of ecstasy and melancholy…
Ecstasy for it has been given what it has been dreaming of the most,
and melancholy for the same exact reason.
I catch my consciousness reminding me that it is no good all this daydreaming,
but I smile back to it and ask it to leave me bask in the moment a little bit longer.