Going back to the start
When she saw the first light, I was there. Early morning, a white room filled by white-dressed eerie people. Metal and cotton.
She was quite, at first. A pink-purple-moving-something, eyes and mouth tightly shut under a blinding artificial sun.
I smiled. My tired wife smiled. Those eerie people smiled. Whilst Irene started singing her first song of thirst and hunger.
Often I try to remember older things. I go back and back and back, but never I go over my fourth or third year. I wonder how it would feel, remembering our own birth. Joy? suffering? A sensation of broken wings? Or what else?
Going back to the start
When she saw the first light, I was there. Early morning, a white room filled by white-dressed eerie people. Metal and cotton.
She was quite, at first. A pink-purple-moving-something, eyes and mouth tightly shut under a blinding artificial sun.
I smiled. My tired wife smiled. Those eerie people smiled. Whilst Irene started singing her first song of thirst and hunger.
Often I try to remember older things. I go back and back and back, but never I go over my fourth or third year. I wonder how it would feel, remembering our own birth. Joy? suffering? A sensation of broken wings? Or what else?