Gonna close my eyes, gonna watch you go, running through this life, darlin', like a field of snow.
- David Gray
I watched you sleep last night.
You begged to be in my bed, as you usually do at night. You're three, and I suppose we should make you sleep in your own little domicile, but something about your badly-buttoned pajama tops endear you to me.
You snuggle down in, your sweaty head resting on my arm. Face in pillow, you proffer up your hand. We've danced this dance a million times.
I scratch your hand and watch you fall asleep. The thought occurs to me that something is firing in your brain. It happens all the time, I know, but I watch you and wonder what neurons are connecting, which synapse is being built because I am scratching your hand,
kissing your head.
How does this moment influence who you will be?
Maybe I think too much, and maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe the only thing that matters is this moment, that it's here, and gone, and you and I will continue on with life.
Or maybe life is really just a conglomeration of those moments, badly filtered and put together in the human brain to make a mosaic.
Maybe these little moments are the only ones that matter.