One day it was two lines.
Fear of how to handle not just one, but two.
Crying in his arms, because somehow he’s even happier than I.
One day it was baby names.
Adjusting the house to allow you to fit.
Announcing your arrival with cheers and gifts.
One day it’s pain in your side.
Crimson on white.
Panic that kept me up at night.
One day it’s hospital rooms.
Nurses with sorry facades.
Ultrasounds telling me, you’re bleeding inside.
One day it’s “We’re taking you to OR 2”.
Crying because I never really got the chance, to meet or,
to truly love you.
One day you’re gone.
And my bodies not mine.
Wishing that someday, that one day,
I’ll truly be fine.