Each early morning I awake I know you are with me. Together we keep rolling…
When your new girl tells you that she loves you, can you still hear me?
When your socks get wet. It’s like all of a sudden I know what it felt like in the trenches during WWI. Gangrene and athlete’s foot scare me more than they should.
It was just like how a horror movie would start.
When we see something that we could feed to our starving egos, we sprint right to it and attack. But we are so engrossed with feeding and boosting our own egos that that we forget what we feed on – other women’s’ self esteem.
You broke me and you made it look effortless. You took my heart like it was made for you and dropped it like it was easy.
I’m twelve and the black-haired boy sitting next to me is telling bad jokes. He turns to me with a huge grin. “What is the difference between a Jew and a pizza?” I say nothing.
Writers are eager to overwrite past work. We’re oblivious to our sources of inspiration. We like to believe that the first draft is the final version.
I had good days without you. I’ve been successful at work, happy in my home, and I am running again. The sunrises are beautiful again. I don’t wake up crying anymore, and though this feels so selfish and terrible to admit, I have been happy since the loss of you. I thought I was healing.
Words have cut me deeply but words have also restored me. I hope that I can be the one to reach out to someone suffering silently though month after month of heartbreaking treatments and remind them that, even if a baby never comes, they are truly enough.