My dearest little one,
I’m writing this one-handed, your little breaths keeping the softest metronome, your little lips pursed out as you dream of eating.
You’ll never know all the times I kissed your tiny fingers as you gripped me so tight; I promise it’s impossible to even count that high.
You’ll never know how I breathed in your skin like it was oxygen, that sweet, pure, Cream of Wheat smelling skin that gives me life.
You’ll never know how much I adored watching your little lips move feverishly as you ate, a little motor that made me laugh out loud, as if you were famished – your rolls would beg to differ.