You're Gonna Be My Bruise

There's a Saturday morning, one morning that might have blended with an afternoon, when she chooses to hide under the covers. She barely moves and lays there for hours, it seems, until the small body next to her shifts and presses his tiny feet to her belly. Lightly, softly.

Her breath catches.

There's the sudden idea that this might be what carrying a child feels like, if only remotely, and she wonders whether that'll ever happen to her. She stops thinking once fear threatens to puncture her heart, because she suddenly gets exactly how bad she wants this, and only allows herself to drift off in the warmth of her sheets, reeling in the feeling.

She never mentions this to anyone.

September 29th, 2010.