Dearest,
It wasn't the fact that he was wielding a trembling knife or that his expression was wrought with a perplexed anger - the bed burning kind. It was mostly that I knew with certainty that his heart was colicky. A relentless whining baby heart that no amount of warm breast milk or rocking or swaddling or tireless pacing could evaporate. So, with this knowledge, and with a lack of weapons of my own within close reach, I stood and prepared for the worst kind of thing. The end of it all or the end of something. The change in figure, weather, texture, mood, plan, spirit and senses. Love was a dying afterthought. I was done for. So was he.
Seeing you soon,
janine, paul, liam and brian
