Soleia 0.8
Einstein wrote that what can be seen by the light of knowledge is inconsequential to the magnitude of the ignorance represented by the surrounding darkness. I feel that when I look at you, when I talk to your mother. When she talks about sore nipples, or tenderness where you exited her body, I shake my head at how I could have gone so long without knowing any of these details. When I look at your face as you sleep and see expressions fluctuate between deeply pained expressions to serene, carefree smiles in the span of a few seconds, I wonder how come I've never read of such things, of the magical experience of observing the newly born.
What could be happening behind those eyelids, I wonder? You were like a seed growing in the fertile soil of your mother's body and now you are a seed again. But this time the seed is your mind: we fertilize it with kisses and touch and words, and in another way with breastmilk and formula and sunlight and vitamin D drops. To look at your face as you sleep is to easily imagine just how much is going on within that head of yours, but it remains frustratingly opaque to observation. Like a seedling growing below the surface of the soil before breaking into the light.
Your breathing ebbs and flows, sometimes laboured, sometimes light. Now you just giggled and sighed. You are a universe unto yourself and I'd give anything to see how the stories within you are unfolding. But alas, I can only be patient, and wait for the consequences of these fluctuations to run their course and reveal to me at last the woman reading these words.
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