While her child slept the moment passed in near silence like the rustle of fabric beside his sleeping head. A sleight of hand beneath the pillow and one treasure was swapped for another.
In the near silence of that moment, a piece of childish innocence was relinquished.
The moment came and went, with her its only witness. A mixture of pride and sadness. The powerful cocktail of maternal love.
She swallowed it down in near silence.
Other moments have come and gone with a similar faint rustle. Moments. Opportunities.
Slipping away from beneath her pillow as she slept.
Pieces of her falling away. One at a time, in near silence.