perpetual.

this picture explains it all. though airbrushed, you can clearly see my solemn and serious expression. thus is my personality. my life is serious business. my life has been perpetual. as if i expected it to be anything else. i have spent a lot of time sleeping and dreaming, waking only to eat and to spend a few drowsy moments with my fuzzy faces. i haven't yet grasped the concept of daytime and nighttime, though i know that sometimes when i wake it is dark and i can't see my soft, angled fuzzy face as well as other times when it is light. imagine a close up photograph, slightly blurred, with a severely blurred background. that is my new world. each day my sight seems to get better and better and i thoroughly enjoy my wakeful moments when i can explore this new ability. everything has been so interesting. as i had grown so accustomed to the sounds and sensations of my lovely balloon world, i still prefer similar feelings, but i am trying to wrap my mind around this overwhelming new place. i look about only to see blurs of color and light, my favorites being strongly contrasting patterns that bring an actual joy to my senses. i am having fun adapting to my new life, and sometimes my face twitches to bring an external sign of this pleasure. when this happens, i am met by my fuzzy faces lighting up with delight, which makes me even happier. it is strange to describe these emotions, as these are things i never felt until i joined my fuzzy faces. without my lifeline i have for the first time experienced hunger, and this is something my soft angles and i have continued perfecting a cure for. as i had never felt an empty stomach, i had also never felt the urge to cry out. these cries are uncontrollable. i can sense my soft angles' pulse rise, feel the warmth of the blood pumping hard through her heart, and i know she is worried. yet, as though an invisible cord still connects us, she seems to know exactly what i need. and so i have security. i know that her instincts pick up each change of pitch and tone in my cry and i am secure in the knowledge that she will bring an end to any need i may have. i often see my soft angles working with my dark lines in order to calm me. i wonder at what makes them do this, though i do not know enough yet to name love. i know pleasure and i know discomfort, but i have a sneaking suspiscion that there is so much more. the complexity of it all has me baffled. when i am awake, that is. which like i said isn't much. right now i spend 90% of my time dreaming about the sweet nectar that takes the discomfort out of my tummy and also about the beating heart of my wonderful soft angles. she is my angel. and my dark lines is my savior. together they keep me from extended discomfort and bring the new sensation of joy to my small life.

expulsion.

there i am. my first unfamiliar breaths in an unfamiliar world. i knew the time was drawing nearer, but i was confused by the warning signs. for certain, i knew that although my mother's body was warm and wonderful, it was becoming harder and harder to move about. i was aware it was coming when i started feeling the hardening of what i like to refer to as my lovely balloon world. what i didn't know was that i would never again feel the comfort of that place. the ceaseless providing. the comforting, rhythmic heartbeat. that most wondrously resonating voice. i still miss it sometimes, but when i see the face of my favorite voice, i remember why i am happier now. but back to this moment... i was awakened by the feeling of all the air being let out of my balloon. i worried at what this would mean. it was almost time. nature had its way of preparing me for what was next, so that part came instinctively. i shifted in the direction of the leak and began what i knew to be a long anticipated journey. her steady breathing and the feel of her hands on my body reassured me. so i moved forward. finally i was in the position in which i remember feeling like a forgotten washcloth in a draining tub. the forces of mother nature were tugging me onward and what was left of my balloon world was behind me pushing. but something wasn't right. i was bearing down with all eight pounds of myself but there was no assistance. after what felt like an eternity, i knew help had come. we worked in synchronicity to move my body through and into this strange place. there was a pause at the end that involved some quick and agile manuevering as the cord that connected me to all i knew existed was disentangled from my neck. with that came the strangest urge. fulfilling it, i breathed in and used my vocal cords for the first time. and suddenly, although i didn't feel it physically, i knew that i had been severed from that which had been my lifeline. and though there was no physical pain, i felt the first pain i would ever feel. loss. her blood still coursed through my veins, but we were no longer a physical part of one another. a stranger's hands carried me away further still, laid me down, and violated my every surface. i had never seen lights so bright or in any color aside from pinks and reds. for the first time i felt cold and exposed. i cried. and then i heard those miraculous sounds. that soft voice which had resonated within my very being since i first began to hear. and the rougher one that had been its constant companion. they were here, too. everything couldn't be so bad as it seemed. i had no idea what it was that they were saying, but it calmed me. and then i was in his arms. he looked me full in the face with tear-stained cheeks that were lost to my inability to focus. to me, he was a fuzzy blur that i loved without thinking. and then i was passed to her. amidst the flashing lights i searched for the source of her voice. i found her face, also fuzzy, but so perfect. i could smell the sweet smell that even to this day assures me of her presence. i knew at once that i no longer needed a cord to connect us. she was capable of providing for me anyway. she could do anything. and for the next two days, we learned to work in tandem so that i could eat, and we worked well together. i became better acquainted with the rough-voiced fuzzy face and learned to distinguish him by his thicker, darker lines. my mother was soft angles much lighter in comparison. and i loved them both equally. my favorite fuzzy faces. i spent most of my time recovering from the trauma that was my expulsion. i slept and i ate. and i was greeted by many different voices and warm arms. some i knew to be more accustomed to cradling tiny bodies such as mine, and some were awkward. but i appreciated the differing sensations this brought. i rarely felt the need to cry out. i knew i was safe as long as my thick, dark lines and soft, light angles were close. and so we learned all we could about each other in those first few days, memorizing the sounds and feels of one another. and they called me henry jude.