You wanted me to hold you close that night, but my fingers couldn't find their way, too wrapped up in our baby's unworn clothes. I'm sorry I didn't have words for you in the darkness, only my slumped shoulders turned away, weak from trying to keep me upright after her monitor flat-lined.
My therapist says I am avoiding the issue, but I keep telling her it will be better to start over new, alone.
She doesn't know that loss.
This city is lonely. I do not have work yet, and this apartment does not feel like home.
Isn't that the point?
Consider this a Christmas card, birthday card, and love letter - in place of all the ones we won't share after this.
20 September 2012
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