I wake to gentle little grunts and turn over to see you restless and stirring, your eyes still closed, as if in a bad dream.
Outside, the sky has barely begun to turn blue. Is it always the crack of dawn with you?
I get some warm water and drag you out of bed. It’s not as bad as I imagine, but why does it have to smell so much?
You start to thrash around and your finger goes to your mouth. Just hold on, I say, but you’re into full throttle now and I can’t believe the noise that can come from such tiny lungs.
The hum of the microwave calms you down and I wait with powder in hand while the horizon turns pink across the rooftops.
Familiar questions enter my head, urgent and painful. Still no answers. Just you and me.