Look at us; the babies. There’s a photo standing on your bedside table and it’s us, smiling, the grins of girls who grabbed on tight to ideas that floated above us like balloon strings. We sit and sip coffee, still fresh faced and new but not like in that photo, there was never a hint of how we would laugh and moan and smile and the silences that would fall in the gaps we left. The smiles shine from the photo frame and sing a different tune. We laugh at the babies who look at us, awestruck, the babies who we want to love.