How can I begin to explain, how it felt to belong to you.

To be nurturing you inside my skin.

The power it gave. After not wanting.

I had come to terms with the idea of living without you.

Without being tied to another, for the rest of my life.

I wasn’t sure if I was even capable,

or worthy.

But then you came, like a stream of sun on the windowsill, the flame of a candle,

so warm, delicate, and pure,

and I wanted you. You were not planned. But I wanted you.

The way a bird fights for the last worm, a miner searching for gold,

I wanted you, with every inch of my soul.

You belonged to me, and I to you.

 

Before you were ripped away, and I stared into that black hole,

within me, that meant to protect you. Before I realized,

you were gone.

Where, I did not know.

But it bought the pain, the questioning and confusion.

Had I failed you, my angel. Had I done something wrong.

 

My body betrayed us both. It led me to believe that you were safe,

it made you feel at home.

And it took you away.

My heart broke once when it knew, and again when I turned to him,

and saw my pain reflected in his eyes.

 

We had wanted you.

 

What came after was the blood, a river of you

floating away.

And I wondered about you.

If you had suffered, if I could find you in the river that flowed,

and hold your tiny body, if only for a while,

for you to meet me, and I you.

 

And in the weeks that passed, I pondered your purpose.

Why were you given, and then cruelly snatched away?

The delicately wrapped plasters on my heart, brutally ripped one by one.

And I concluded that despite my protests, you had shown me

deep down, I did want to be a mum.

And I had finally found someone, who I desperately wanted to be your dad.

I think about you every day.

I miss you my angel, my love, with all my heart.