The Island

I hear you. At least I think I do. So I look to see if your mouth is moving. But through the pitch black of midnight, it’s impossible to tell. Still, it must be you. No one else in our world can make that type of noise. At least not anymore. I can’t say that I’m excited to hear you. But I can’t say that I’m not, either. Because together we’ll go. And we’ll be alone. Just the two of us. And I look forward to that.

Even so, I drift back to sleep and only realize that fact during your next series of soft cries, the ones which finally prompt me to gently pick you up from the Moses basket. And together, we’re off.

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