The night

 The night passes, 

like each night,

all nights! 

A grey strand of hair,

releases itself, 

onto the pillow, 

in testimony. 

I look at my child, 

sleeping,

cuddling up against, 

assured. 

I look at the man 

sleeping next to him, 

the father of my child, 

I softly feel the inside of his fingers,

curled up around the boy's waist,

I run my fingers 

through the boy's hair,

sweeping it backwards. 

A gentle wind blows through the clouds.

I realize I'm begining to lose,

the distinction between gentle and indifferent and cold. 

A strange shadow falls upon the ceiling, 

I look up, startled.

It moves,

swiftly dragging itself across, 

I look outside the window,

Time flies by!

The past suddenly begins to look too distant, 

the future too unsure. 

We age.

The night passes.

So shall we!