The Pocketful

I think I write stories
because I wish to remember 
my life.

Everywhere I look, 
something is happening…
the day is being lived out in its 
beautifully ordinary way.

The morning light 
determinately squeezes past 
the curtains blocking her path… 
yet she gets through anyway 
and is pleased to finally fill 
the sleepy room.  

My cats jump onto our bed, 
as they always do,
choosing my husband’s legs
as their pillow… 

knowing full well that 
he will not be impressed, 
while I would pay for this 
experience. 

My kids don’t want to be woken up… 
don’t want to get dressed… 
don’t want to be hurried… 

and yet…

are somehow surprised 
that they’re almost late 
for school (again). 

I could sit and observe it all day. 
All the little things that unfold
in a single ordinary 
morning.

Because isn't it a miracle?

To have the people you love 
right here with you.

To know the sound of their 
footsteps by heart.
To hear their voices
in the kitchen.

And to move through
all the morning rituals
together.

Isn't that the most 
precious thing?

Because none of it is 
promissed tomorrow.

We never know 
how long it will last.
Life changes quietly, 
without asking.

And then it's those 
small moments we'll 
miss forever. 

Not the grand celebrations… 
Not the big achievements…
But how it felt having 
someone we love 
present. 

The small, 
unremarkable things that 
stitched our days into 
something…

we wish 
we could tuck into 
our pockets and keep safe 
forever.

With love,
Elina