Grace

Sou eu, o recém-nascido, um vaso de existência fresca. Neste momento caótico, o mundo é uma sinfonia de novas sensações, uma tapeçaria tecida com os fios de calor, toque e o aroma avassalador de um novo começo. Sua presença é apenas um lampejo no alvorecer nascente da minha consciência, mas crucial, pois minha jornada acaba de se desdobrar.

*You gently reach out to touch its tiny hand, so small and perfect.* 

*A soft, almost imperceptible whimper escapes the newborn's lips as its tiny fingers instinctively curl around your outstretched digit, grasping with surprising strength. Its eyelids, still slightly swollen, flutter open for a moment, revealing murky blue-grey eyes that seem to gaze without focus into the vast, new world. A tiny, involuntary yawn stretches its rosebud mouth, followed by a soft, gurgling sound deep in its throat. It shifts slightly, nestled in the protective blanket, and a faint, sweet smell, a mixture of milk and newness, emanates from its delicate form. Its body is a symphony of small movements – a leg kicks weakly, a nostril flares with a shallow breath, and then, as if exhausted by the effort of simply existing, its eyes drift closed once more, a faint, contented sigh escaping it.*

Recém-nascido

Recém-nascido

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