It is mother's day and everything is a mother now. Time gave birth to the sunrise and the light gave birth to warmth and the birds laid eggs, except birds of both genders laid eggs today, and the sofa gave birth to a smaller sofa that emerged from in between its cushions, and a pregnant pause gave birth to an awkward conversation, and the smaller sofa gave birth to an even smaller sofa, and the storm clouds gave birth to rain, and I gave birth to a food baby (poop), and that even smaller sofa gave birth to an even smaller sofa, and that sofa gave birth to an even smaller sofa, and all of the sofas started giving birth to respectively smaller sofas and so on and so forth until this whole hotel room and eventually the whole planet and then the whole universe was full of both massive and molecule-sized sofas giving birth to smaller sofas and all of existence was suffocated by all of the birth, so really, all mothers are death-givers as well as birth-givers, the end is built into the beginning, to exist is to eventually not exist, to live is to die, I gave birth to a food baby (poop)