She sees kaleidoscope fragmented twirling but without giddy explosion of color.
This is monochromatic undulation.
Pieces cling together and fly apart, a continuous dance devoid of joy.
There is beauty here, held in the eye of the broken.
I flick the bathroom light off, to avoid spotlighting your face as I open the door into our room. The dawn provides enough light for navigation, as well as enough for me to see you sleeping. Our son, who has stolen my place in our bed, snuggles under your arm. His tiny hand grasps your thumb. His puffy hair wilds against your arm. His tiny snores bitty echoes of your great roaring ones. Two matching faces, so similar especially in sleep. Everything is now. All of the light everywhere exists here, in the contented slumber of father and son. I stop to grasp the moment as I often do. I do not know this time it will be different. I know only it is a beautiful quiet moment in our loud turbulent lives and I stop to appreciate it before exiting the room and heading to work.
As far as last memories go, we could’ve done worse.