Tomorrow will come.

She is so beautiful to watch. I listen to her breathing, her tiny lungs filling with filtered air as darkness surrounds her in her crib. Her arms, small and frail, are tucked peacefully under her cheek and her legs are drawn close, her knees bent to form a small, chubby question mark on her mattress. She is so small, so wonderful. How did I help to bring this thing, this small human being, into the world?

Miles away, with countless amounts of concrete, wood, brick and glass between here and there, sirens echo into the night air and a train's horn bellows laboriously. A world is still in motion, out there, while my daughter's world is restful and slumbering. She isn't aware of these things, the crimes and wars and loves and meetings and dealings and laughter; these things are so far removed from her idea of the world that they might as well be alien. And perhaps they are, to her. What does a baby dream of? I wonder. Soft hands, warm baths, sweet food, a comforting toy, bright colors, soothing sounds. To a baby, these are things of complexity and wonder while us adults stand a few feet away and find ourselves mired in a world of chaos.

She murmurs gently and sighs the perfect sigh of a contented child at rest. I smile and sigh as well. This moment is perfect, here in the darkness. No dream could be more peaceful than right now.

Yesterday has gone.

Why doesn't she understand? They were picking on me! I had to do something, anything to make it stop. They were mean. So what if I hit them? They started it and if I didn't do it first, they would have. I had to stand up for myself. I had to show them that I wasn't afraid.

And instead of being proud of me, what did she do? She punished me. Why? What did I do wrong? I defended myself against the mean kids. I thought that I was supposed to stand up for myself. That's what she did, when Dad left. She stood up for herself. She fought back. She was strong. She showed me what to do to stay safe.

Why did she punish me for being like her? I'm not a bad boy. She knows that. And I didn't really want to hurt those other kids. I just wanted to be left alone. I warned them. I begged them to stop. But they didn't, so I hit them. Then they stopped. The teacher made it seem worse than it really was. She said I couldn't control myself, that I was... what was the word... uncooperative. But I'm not! I'm a good boy.

Doesn't she know that? Doesn't she care?

The Now is here.

You, underneath me, and our hearts are racing. Water and sweat and blood and heat and the cool night air, this is us, making love. God, I love you so much! You're so close, so real to me! Our lips meet and I taste your breath, feel your nose brushing against mine as our bodies collide, your legs wrapped around my back, your ankles kicking my spine, holding me with you. I am more than just inside you, I am part of you now. I feel your pulse with my palms as I hold your hands tightly in mine, our fingers intertwined.

God, I missed you so much these last few days! I'm so glad you're here, home, with me. I'm sorry I couldn't go with you. But I think your father would understand. Do you? I'm sorry I couldn't hold you while you cried at the funeral. My heart was with you, I swear. I couldn't stop thinking about you, sharing it, even though we were a thousand miles away. You're home now, with me, and I'm so sorry and I love you and I'll never let you go.

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