Missing you.

It’s 2:06 a.m. and sleep won’t come. I can’t stop thinking about you. A woman on a fictional TV show felt her fictional baby move for the fictional first time and I am still reeling.

It’s not just my womb feeling empty tonight, it’s my heart. There is no momento to hold on to. You barely existed. It’s still shocking how such a small thing can rip the biggest hole in someone’s life.

I should be giddy with excitement, waiting to feel your little flickers. Instead I am awake, listening to the wind howl outside, feeling this sudden urge to bury my face in the baby blanket I bought for you. To smell the lotion I bought for you. To fold the clothes you’ll never wear.

The closet door will wake my husband. I don’t want anyone to see me curled up on the floor of the room your crib should be in.

I miss you.


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