Life is..


Well.. obviously not a twin chair, that’s just a random pic off zimaaaam’s many others I thought would be comforting to look at after what I’m yet to pen.

Nothing else matters when after that tunnel and light.. a rather sizeable nurse whom you almost took for your mum only seconds ago now hands you over to yet another depressed.. how do I put it.. overly exhausted, and excited (nonetheless) other woman, whom you can tell is both relieved and terrified at the thought of anything ever bringing you hurt ..and of how pretty the life she just hailed, appears. Not in that specific order, this.

Your first absolution however then, is to reciprocate this affection, fear & confusion the only way you best can and that’s with a loud cry, often mistaken for thirst, while others a humble howl.. we can’t all be were-babies, JJ Abraams you understand — followed by… wait.. that brings me to the point I had. Perhaps if mothers went to labour laughing and gaging about, kids wouldn’t have to be born normal.. screaming.. tossed up and about around the room only to grow up feeling unwanted and in constant need of approval which kinda does explain what’s wrong with the world tomorrow, don’t you think?


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