I think, if you blink, you could miss it. The illusive final slivers of happiness, like the lost sandbanks in high-tide. I think, the miss in miscarriage is the most important part because to miss something is infinite mourning. I think, if tears came from wells, mine would have dried up by now. I think, if we are all on every miracle's bucket list that I seem to be lower on the list than other people and would really like to know what I did wrong. I think, saying goodbye to a wish comes with absolutely no finality. An empty pit. Black abyss. Forever, achingly, echoingly, over and over. Like the unanswered questions of the universe.
As if, in the seconds before, you knew exactly what your life would be and now it is nothing at all like you could have possibly planned.
Sesame Seed Baby. Your eyes were starting to develop this week. I bet they would have been the greenish-blueish-grey of miracles. I'm sorry that we will never see them earthside.
How the heart aches. That much I know.