I’m always looking for something.
I don’t quite know what it is.
Something.
Something I want to do.
Someone I long to be. She flees away from me, as if she thinks I’m not ready yet. Or, knowing me, she’s just teasing me.
I keep on looking, and in the meantime I just am.
He looks for me. A worn out knit blanket and a teddy bear that is losing his fur travel with him.
He knows very well what he wants.
Me.
He couldn’t care less that I should be peeling carrots and crying over onions.
I sit down with him on my lap and he’s quite willing to share me with my book.
He found me.
I hold him tight and his hair smells like summer and sunshine.
I inhale the smell like I’m an addict, because that’s what I am.
This is me. I am just a mama kissing a sandy head of hair.
The head dives away under my chin.
I slowly turn my head towards my book.
We sit, we are.
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Being might just be the most important thing you can do.
And so we sit, being important, with sand between our toes and in our hair.
?
slik, heel mooi