wet, hot, sobs. these are the tears i cry when i’m alone. unrestrained wails and moans for my babies.

but when i’m around others i clench up, hold my tears in. my eyes and my throat burn with restraint. my heart screams louder than my voice could ever take me. when does it end?

never, friends. this is my life. i must live forever knowing that those beautiful girls i planned and hoped and lived and labored for were never meant to dwell in my arms or my home. the pain is still becoming real, and i hurt so much more that i ever knew i could.

my heart their crib, my memories their own. this is all they have, all they were. they are at once the light of my world and the heavy weight i carry. they are my everything but if i did not write their story, they would be nothing to you or to the world. me and T’s little sad story, our beloved secret, our greatest pain and joy and grace.

this conflict of love, this hostile daydream of wonder and ruin has me at a loss. where am i and where in the world do i go from here? i didn’t ever think i would live in a world where babies die, freshly born, pink and lovely, die. born of me but not mine to keep.