The Silence.

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And then you were born. You came into being. Not with a roar, or a scream, or a cry with writhing body. Instead, with the silence and the quiet that accompanies fear.

For an eternity, time moved forward and you hovered between here and not here. The absence of sound, heavy in our ears, creating a straining of the senses ready to receive the instruction to relax. But it didn't come. The sound. It didn't come.

So in the half there, the almost there, the state where neither is possible, but either, even all, is possible, we waited.

There was busyness. The world continued to turn, to describe not circles, but ellipses and coils and arcs through the void.

There was another void, this one in our combined hearts that continued to wait.

You were passing through being and not being. An interferometer of sorts where you were in both states at the same time. A curious and uncomfortable juxtaposition of probability whilst there was no breath.

We waited, ever and increasingly fearful of the waiting, of what the waiting signified. And of the busyness - the entanglement of the other, the one not of our bodies - what her actions and decisions would signify for you both now and in your future. The choices that she makes now are crucial for your very being - your continued existence in this universe.

The fear grows. There are questions from our mouths, born of fear and an awaking of understanding that there is to be a change in outcome, that all that was ahead yesterday would soon be unseen and the more greatly unseen with each passing moment.

There is both busyness and silence in front of us, and movement between us as we join, first with hearts and then hands and then with holding.

We willed you. We willed you as you lay there between being and not being. We willed you with our holding, and her busyness, and with the knowing of all the matter in the universe.


There are only two possibilities: yes or no.

And you took your first breath.