little one

Each day holds a thousand profound moments, all of them cheapened by description.

(I once thought that parents talked about children because their world had so imperceptibly narrowed that it was the only thing they could talk about. In a sense that still holds. My world has narrowed. Beautifully. Perfectly.)

I am moved to tears when I turn from some distraction and find his dark blue eyes looking intently at my face. As if he's waiting for me to see him. When he sees me see him, his own face lights in the purest, gummiest grin. I sit, overcome, thinking -- I am wasting my time on the pathetic and temporal when before me is eternity.