If

The vulnerable dreams of hope

If I could protect my children with words.

Then I would put a protective membrane of the most beautiful phrases around their tiny bodies every morning. A transparent film so sparkling and tender, that fluttered in the wind and reflected the sun. A cover just as magical and unbreakable as a knight’s armour.

If I could protect my children with words.

Then every day I would strengthen their souls with the bravest expressions I have ever been able to bring forth. Those powerful words would inspire their souls to dare. They would point to the need to enjoy the light moments that pass by. The words would clarify the calmness that a mother’s gaze can give.  When she knows that the child can. When she knows that the child must. When she sees that the child is courageous. And courage becomes happiness.

If I could protect my children with words.

Then every night I would lie in their beds and whisper with my own language. A language only we understood. I would embrace with body and words, their tired little limbs. I would gently tuck in and around. With vowels and consonants. The whispers would become songs. The songs would turn into night. And the night would be careful and watch over us with gentle stars.

If I could protect my children with words.

Then my body would relax. I would be in control. Of every minute. I would take a deep breath and lower my shoulders. If only just a few centimetres. I would keep hunting for words. To keep and store. To protect. They would be my hope.