Lips suspended high in a crescent grin, glazed over with hunger to say what can only be explained with nonsensical syllables.
Ears, small megaphones itching from the never ending choral overload, waiting for a gentle hush of familiarity.
Hands. Strong impostors able to hold without force. Miniature clamps comforting me one finger at a time.
How wonderful it must be to wake up every few hours for the first time. To employ every breath with awe and bewilderment. How much makes sense? How much has to? Teach me how to live like you again and please never unlearn what you know in this moment.
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