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pretentioustwnt in dyslexiaed

title: a break, our never-ending
author's notes: this might be the most personal thing I've ever written. And, maybe personal isn't the right word; since it's not personal to me, but instead to a friend of mine. I know it seems terrible to write about it, but, I have to, you know? Because there's nothing else I can do.

Outside the sky is gray-blue and the wind, it pounds against the windows and everything shakes and groans under the weight of it.

On the wall there's a picture of a summer party; the kind with bathing suits and kegs and all those other stupid little things teenagers do for fun. Now it's like some alien scene, with smiles and laughter, and she can only see every perfection in the still frame - perfections she knows she could work forever and never create again.

Her swollen belly, she smooths her hand over it and whispers such lovely things to the baby inside. In the dark, in the middle of the night (when the whole world is silent and still), she listens to the beat of them, her and the baby. Her heart, how it keeps working, tugging her along. But here, now, she can only hear the thump-thump of her own pulse; just one rhythm, one life.

She smooths her hand over her belly, large and beautiful, and god, she can only ever hear one heart beating inside her.

The doctors, they say inducing the labor will be the best course of action. Her baby, sweet and tiny, she'll bury her with a name and a date, and plant baby's breath and purple hyacinth to keep her.

And her baby's father, his blue eyes look back at her from the photograph on the wall, the happiness there clear and genuine.

His hands that held hers, his voice that told her they'd made it through, lips that promised how God would hold their baby now, love her and keep her safe - all of it is gone. And when she buries him in the cold earth, she'll bury piece of her she's not sure she can afford to lose.

The doctors, they say it was the medication for his back pain. They say he might've drank too much, and the reaction, well, it might've caused his liver to shut down. Her love, the only piece she could still hold on to, gone as well.

The sky outside, it turns black; no stars, no moon to comfort her.


October 2007

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