As with most things I write, this came from almost nowhere, and was written in about five minutes. Give me any suggestions you can!
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She invites me to her.
Vessel of kindness, life-giver, mother.
I shimmy into the sheets and curl beside her. Her soft hand closes on mine and pulls it round her waist. We lie together. We do not talk. Our love needs no words. We can feel it-- both in the intangible and ancient way a mother and child love one another, and physically, with every degree of warmth we share as it circulates between our bodies.
I slow my breathing, trying to match it with hers, as though to return to the harmony of the womb, the simple, untainted love we had before we became like captains of opposing warships. Us, with our irreconcilable minds. Well meant words spark war between us, and we bruise each other.
But not now. Now we are at peace under our Snuggle Treaty. I breathe her scent in, feeling nostalgia and sleep start to wash over me. I imagine an unremembered infancy, with me snuggled to her chest, my soft, chubby face pillowed perfectly in the curve of her neck. I then see myself in some vague and unimaginable future, looking down at her tucking in the sheets of a hospital bed. I see the pulse in her neck flutter. I hear her strained breathing. Gently, I slide in beside her small frame.
I can still feel her chest rise, slower than ever.
I can still smell her scent hiding under the sterile hospital odor.
I can still feel what’s left of her warmth.
And in those sheets, in that hospital bed, I wish I could hold her up against my chest and let her rest her tired head in the crook of my neck. And in those sheets, curled beside her, I wish I could stretch this moment out into eternity, and lie with her forever.
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Please feel free to critique as much (and has harshly) as you'd like. I know I have a problem with misplacing and overusing commas.
Much love,
Haley
