Call me crazy.

Even after the fullest day. The loudest scream. The tangliest octopus toddler. The clingiest eight week old. Heavy arms. Tired legs.


I see them both asleep. Dreaming. Their eyes, respectively, are usually so large and stare at me expectantly. Now they are just tiny slits I barely make out in the dark. A pair of tiny chests slowly breathe up and down.

A sigh of relief and I pour a glass of wine.

After listening to music and writing and decompressing I am light again. And I miss them. The quiet is loud when you become so used to noise.