I look at him, trying to imagine the grown up he will become. Will he still love watching football games? Will he still enjoy playing chess with his father? Will he keep all those painstaking habits of his?
Lately I’ve been thinking about that woman, the one who’d be allowed to discover all the intricacies of his being. The one who would find out that rubbing his back makes him sleep like an angel. The one that’d kill his will and turn him back into a helpless baby, knelt at her feet, addicted, her baby. Will she be blond and sexier than I’ve ever been? Or he might choose an ever fascinating geek? How could she be able to put up with all his troublesome traits. Will she help him be a better man? Could we be friends?
I can almost feel. Heartbeat. Fingers. Moving downwards, along the headset cable. Volume. Up. Would she go with the flow? Would she be a little ray of sunshine?
Slide. Sleep. Kitty. Should be fed.
Written on my daughter’s notebook. When did they grow so much?
I take her pen and scribble:
[tonight I’m into cheesy stories, dar nici macar nu sunt in stare sa scriu una cum trebuie…]