Room to room. Not enough space. But just enough to get by. The sound of footsteps no matter where I go. They follow. Needing. Wanting. Watching. I can't distinguish my own footsteps from the little patters following me. I confess sometimes I don't want to hear them. Sometimes I just want to hear my own two feet walking on the wooden, creaky floor to my bedroom. But, then I remember. I remember that these patters are my life. Someday I will want them to follow me and they will run the other way. Someday I will long to hear their little feet on the creaky floor and all I will hear is silence. Someday I will follow. Needing. Wanting. Watching. So, I fall on my floor and hold them in my arms breathing in their presence. But I must let them go. So I do. Listening for the music of those little feet. The soundtrack of my life. And it is beautiful.