CHILDREN.

CHILDREN.

3/28/11

He sleeps like a child, under the diffused lamplight beside my couch. Soft breaths, small sounds. I watch his eyelids twitch and twitter while he dreams. The way he has wrapped himself, enveloped himself in my blanket. The way he has enveloped himself in my life. Many months ago, his brilliance would have left me breathless.

But now, the weeks grow long and I, tired. The innocence found in sleeping has no means to an end in our world, a world of action, a world of disillusionment. I discard it like the memory of last winter’s chill.

Do I leave him there to dream, to be cradled by his comfort, to leave myself detached? Do I dream to leave, and be comforted by the cocoon of identity?

How I would, dream, leave, dare to define myself in the chill of this winter’s wonder. In the darkness I could rise and wrap myself in light, resilience and all, leaving me selfless. Leaving me shell-less.

Yes, I do leave him there to dream. To cradle me as I crawl back to his comfort, to return to my innocence and the world where action has no meaning.

© BLAYKE MORROW, 2011