Naive Mornings

Upon hearing some of your words, the childish everyday routine came into my mind, through which the moist soil cured the fever of my feet, sick of euphoria, that would run through the lethargy, escaping from my obligations, in search of a well of shadow, by the silent weight of the logs hidden in that farm. The weather, versatile and volatile, played with me in my mornings that, as vagabonds, seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, carried by winds from the south, amid 'sleepwalking my inattention. I would fasten my steps to find you, always lying in the same dark room, escaping from the sunlight, with the infant breasts skyward, eyes closed and sharped ears, observing my breathing. I lingered there beside you, holding the land next to you, as if we are one body only, and didn't even know. We would silent by the sound of birds singing our yet naive love.

This memory came quickly, like a flash, as a lapse in the middle of your speech. I stare at this moment, your eyes filled with tears, sobbing anguish, while our little one is calling you in the next room.Your words shouted in anger, the phone thrown on the wall at the irritation that culminates in your words - we're having another baby.

I do like children, I would cry, laugh, I would love these words at any other moment. In lack of understanding, though, I took my flight fleeting eyelashes, and then came this blow in memory, like an epiphany, that perhaps I would prefer our love when we still did not know it existed.