The early bird catches the worm but the baby wakes her long before that.  Seven months in and the schedule has already started and it kicks at her til she starts to walk.  Another life within hers to burn it's awkward rhythm over her own, and it's kicks and kicks and kicks ignoring the crash and snare and china and tom.

It's quiet and he knows that everything is quickly changing.  It's not scary...easy to accept...but who wants it?  Love isn't anything he could ever put his finger on...no different than the songs scurrying across the street and the words that bellow from billboards.  Him and her is how it is and he knows and cares but it's not...it's just not.  Maybe she is not, too.  To never understand is to make things simple...and makes everyone happy because it's just so uncomplicating...the difference between the self-taught and the studious...is that everything is a matter of feel as opposed to the method...because sometimes the method doesn't matter.

As inordinate as it could be, he plans to marry her and she plans to let him have his way and the baby plans only to play til they shape it.  Nonetheless, they'll teach it and it'll return to nothing peacefully.

It's so hard to not go peacefully.