Increasing the population by one seems such a small thing in the grand scheme,
but viewed from the planetarium of individuality, it grows like a superscript 10
coupled against the transition from our predictable routine to the unexpected.
Family struggles bloom bright as supernovas with a hint of “What would we do?”
We’ve written a list of rules, but the more written means the more overwritten.
Preparation never seems satisfying, and the clothes put aside for your first day home
flail insecurely in size, color, contrast; endless filters of doubt cloud our every breath
lost on a side street with nothing but mirrors to guide us through the narrowness,
waiting for a familiar landmark or trustworthy lighthouse to shine us through.