You are asleep on my chest, delicate lashes against your cheek. Your breath is quiet, deep, full.
I rock and you sleep.
There are a lot of things going on around you — but your innocence shields you from all of it. You don’t feel the spectre of Death I see upon the horizon, nor the anger and heartbreak which pounds through my mind, relentless. You don’t know the fear that haunts me, the fear that I will waste these few breaths I have, that I will not reach far enough, hard enough in these dark days.
I rock and you rest.
The prospect of Death has a funny way of reminding us why we live. We sit up and look around, suddenly awake to the fact that change is coming, whether we want it or not. There are times that this raucous alarm is an inspiration to live well, deeply. To seize the day and in so doing, grab the very fabric of Time. Other times, like today, this awakening serves only to overwhelm me and leave me once again impressed with inevitability of impermanence.
I rock and you dream.
I wish there was a way to keep you from this change and heartbreak. I would hold you static against these ravages, caught in a perfect state of bliss and innocence. And yet…if I hid you from these times, from this pain, I would also withold from you the joy of attraction and friendship. There would be no meals with laughter, no firsts, no sighs of contentment. No pain, but also no relief.
You rock and I weep.