My baby is dying of old age. Like experience into words, Or like the visceral into the mnemonic. Experience never meant to become words, you know. That is less graduation than aberration.
Pure baby equals pure innocence.
But purity is compromised with time. At the very least, it is at risk to lose its integrity. His hair is almost about his shoulders. I have to take pictures for remembrance. For he is too young to be thought of in the past tense.