The short night is interspersed with his cries, and the sounds of the neighbours going about their late evening business. Someone over there must work night shift. The car pulls in, the door slams. Chatter, in a foreign language.
When I get up my ankles protest the sudden weight of my body. I make a split decision to put on or not put on my slippers, wear or not wear a dressing gown. His room is as much like a womb as we can make it. Constant ambient noise, warm, dark but not black. The armchair is there. I adjust the cushion. One or both of us falls asleep.
Lovely! Well danced with love and exhaustion.
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