We sit in the living room on the couch with nothing but the glow of the street light from across the street to partially illuminate the room. I hum a little song to myself, remembering the melody she used to sing to me. A nighttime comfort when impatience seems to fill my days.
I get lost in the tune, reliving sitting on a lap and getting a strong, loving hug from arms too long buried in yesteryear. I wiggle with barretted braids swinging happily about, and I dance obliviously to the pain my increasingly heavy frame is causing older, frailer bones. Her graying eyes whisper “I love you,” even though I know they can’t see me like they used to, and I feel a tear fall gently onto my cheek. The seeming suddenness of emotion catches me off guard, and I am back in the present with the snores of a husband reassuringly safeguarding our home.
Then I look down at you, squirming in an ever shrinking womb, and I begin to hum once more. You stretch and settle, and I wonder if you know how much I long to meet you. How much I long to love you like the best people have loved me.