Accurate

Miracles. Events with astronomical odds of occurring. Like oxygen turning into gold. I’ve longed to witness such an event. Yet I neglect that in human coupling, millions upon millions of cells compete to create life, for generation after generation. Until finally your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate. But out of that contradiction, against unfathomable odds, it is you, only you that emerged. To distill so specific a form, from all that chaos, it’s like turning air into gold. A miracle. And so I was wrong, now dry your eyes, and let’s go home.

Well, guest, a live body continues to consume and reproduce cells.