CW: pregnancy. The universe shrinks down to your belly. You think of microscopic cells forming, copying a blueprint sketched on DNA 40,000 times finer than a human hair. You think of tiny fingernails, eyelashes, the shell of a china doll ear. You lie in bed at night and stare down at the surface of your skin, searching for tremors, evidence she’s really there. In the park you notice the angle of the sun in the early autumn trees. You picture how her fingers will curl around your finger, sharing your favourite poem.
On the way the light hits
On the way the light hits
On the way the light hits
CW: pregnancy. The universe shrinks down to your belly. You think of microscopic cells forming, copying a blueprint sketched on DNA 40,000 times finer than a human hair. You think of tiny fingernails, eyelashes, the shell of a china doll ear. You lie in bed at night and stare down at the surface of your skin, searching for tremors, evidence she’s really there. In the park you notice the angle of the sun in the early autumn trees. You picture how her fingers will curl around your finger, sharing your favourite poem.