My mind is going at warp speed. Sometimes sentences don't even finish themselves. They hang mid-air, and disappear before they are done. I can almost sound them out in the silence of the living room. Sometimes they bounce along the hardwood floors. Sometimes they reappear like memories from scents, or song.
During the early morning hours its seems my thoughts are razor sharp, if nothing else. Nothing else makes a sound but them.
When I come to bed I am still awake, eyes owl-wide. The baby twitches and startles beside me. Amanda's breath quickens and stills, quickens and stills. The dog snores quietly into the carpet.
I have time to reflect on the days. They are so dissimilar from the night. My days are thick and sludgy. I forget whole words as I speak them. Sometimes halves of sentences escape me, and I stare with an open mouth, tasting the essence of them, of where they used to be. My hands are still tingling, and burning. I feel as if I am starting to go mad at the buzz of them.
The baby and I wake and sleep together. Around noon we stir, a symbiotic dance against the sheets, and he nurses at my breast before we rise. It is one of my favorite times, because he eats there with his eyes still closed and fingers lazily pushing at my skin. I think of nothing, letting my eyes blur against the blue of the walls.
I don't know if being a new mother is the reason my mind and body are starting to fail me so, or if it's something more dark, or sickly.
Truth is though, I will never forget the words I feel for my son, and Amanda.
I say them over and over to myself, here in the dark, and the light of the computer screen.
Love. Permanence. Symphony. Reality. Choice.
I am so happy these days,
I could just float away.
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