movies created on the way home

what is this little voice in my head?
what is this thing pulling at my heart?
what is this feeling that speaks to me from the lighted windows in the hospital?
daring me to tell the stories I imagine happening from where those lights are on. the romanticism, if that's the right word, that seems to ooze from them. the quiet father, sitting in a rocking chair in a birthing suite, watching Seinfeld as he has for hundreds of nights before this. but tonight, he sits there in a dark room, quietly reading the well studied lips of his friends on the screen, so as to not wake the little creature that arrived this morning to change his life forever. that quiet satisfaction in knowing that nothing else is as important as what he's doing right this very moment. watching over his partner. listening to the distant calls for nurse smith, and doctor jones to OR4. sitting there, in his rocking chair, amidst the sterile light spilling silently from the hallway. the importance of these details. the serenity in this moment. letting it all wash over him. drinking his coffee, sweet and light. knowing that it will keep him up much longer than he's ever been up before, and relishing that fact. the very art in this situation. the cinematic quality of his life right now. unaware that tomorrow the sun will rise, and with it come questions, and decisions, and actions that cheapen this moment.
the song on my radio, that I want to last forever, and literally freeze the world where it is. to allow the layers and depth and emotion in his voice to filter out through the decorative cover, through the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen, gently brushing up against one another, until their message reaches our ears. and whispers into our hearts. and we are filled with longing, and love, and the literal joy of life. i look at you, and you at me, and we silently wish the clock to stop. we wish that we never know what tomorrow will bring, because this, this is everything we will ever need. you, reclined in your car seat, and me in mine. the heater gently pulling the covers up under our chins. there, on the dead end of Adams Castle. the world will stop, and keep us from all that we've distracted ourselves with. Finally in our hearts we will know that we have everything in this moment that those little creatures that we once were were crying for. we will have found in life what our fathers were hoping for us, as they watched over our sleeping little souls that quiet night we were born, as our mothers slept deeply through the night, as the stark sterile light spilled into our parents birthing suites, so many moons ago.