Cause He's My Lion

The sound of little feet on the landing.
So quiet, so careful, those naked feet on white painted stairs, holding on, barely moving and still.
Still, I can hear every tiny step, every inch he's moving. I can hear it, I can feel it.
And the voice, younger than in daytime, tired, curious, just one more question, just one more thing to think about before falling asleep.
And the hair, that hair, that makes him look like four years old again, a curly lion's mess from tossing and turning the world and his blankets upside down.
Sometimes those steps, that sound of little feet that on other nights make you sigh and say go back to beeeeeeeeed, sometimes those steps sound right through me.
Sometimes the sleepy breath of this eightyearold standing on the steps with just one more question makes me smile a smile that may look tired from outside but is a loud roar of joy on the inside.
Because i know that this is it. This, right now. This is it.
Roar.
Roar.
Roar.