Stories and fairytales.

I cradle my baby in a heaven of sorts, a sky as limitless as the infinite distance between your eyelashes. My arms wrapped around the softness of your skin, reminding me of every atom of passion put into your metamorphose.

I sing you to sleep a melody of the stars. That little crude lullaby I used to know so well. It will stick to your brain and play back again and again. And then one day you’ll wake up, with a tune running through your mind endlessly; you’ll remember that it means something that used to mean something. A vague feeling of familiarity. An assortment of memories. A distorted flashback.

I carry your heart with me, in the sound of my voice and the tips of my fingers. I let you slide through me hoping you’ll find your way back and forgive me. Hoping you’ll forgive me for the sins I never committed but desired. I plead guilty and I wait for that time to come. Tic tic tic.

Tic tic tic, that’s the sound I constantly hear. It prickles through my brain and keeps me up at night. Half awake in the dark of a room that is not mine. I feel you there holding my bones together, giving me all the love and attention I owe you. So unconditionally, so ultimately. You bring me up as I bring you down.

And I cradle my baby lovingly. Admiring her smile as she sleeps. What is she dreaming of? What does she see? Am I the villain in her fantastic story or her savior on a transparent cloud? How I wish she would tell me. Just tell me what I am. For in this little story of mine, I am everything I never thought I’d be, always too much but never enough.