This is where dreams are made. In the early morning – at 2am, 3am, 4am, 5am. In a separate room from your husband, the lamp on all night. Baby against your breast. You absorbing the strange sounds she makes in her sleep. Dreams are made when you’re wishing that you too could sleep. The tiredness overcoming your body, overpowering you, overwhelming. In the kitchen, carefully spooning out the correct amount of powdered milk into a bottle, your feet on the cold, bare tiles; shivering slightly and watching the rain pound on the freshly planted grass. October rolls in; time flies fast. You sit in the darkness with the television on, senseless show after senseless show, one after the other, while you wait for the baby to jerk awake and start crying. The anticipation of the morning. The sadness when people leave for work, the happiness when others return. The time in between.
Currently listening to:
Moriarty
Gee Whiz But This Is A Lonesome Town