hold, hold, hold.

if i allow myself to drift back to the halcyon days when i carried him, or the lived heaven of our earliest hours, or any one precious moment since, or ahead to when he is one or four or grown, the tides of thought and memory might just sweep me from the shores of what is here, now, right in front of me. they might just swallow me whole.

none of this, not one breath of it, will ever be long enough.

but this is right now, and this is everything. we are six months together in this way, and we met the morning in just the way we met that first sparkling morning: as each other's. six months is for holding myself in the gentlest of spaces and honoring the ache as time ripples through me, and it is for marveling at this boy and all that he is: ocean eyes and spun gold hair, smiles in his sleep, tender and curious, merry hearted, a happy traveler, a singer of songs, a gazer of windows, a trapeze swinger of toes, magic.