The First


I am not the first nor are you the last child of a child.

Yanked into this world with love you are more tiny and more precious then I could ever imagine and yet contain a love so large.

The hard old soul of me is cracked and washed anew in a baptism of tears so spontaneous I have no idea where they came from.

And now hundreds of miles away from you I cry again to hold you, to touch you, to smell and adore you.

4 thoughts on “The First

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