Written three years ago, for my little marble.

I feel scraped out and raw and hollow.

I feel like there is a tomb, a little tomb, inside me. I feel like someone has come at me with an oystershell, smashed it open in front of me, let the pearl inside vanish and melt and run down the sides.

The broken pieces of the shell cut me. Little splinters of shell. The rainbowwhite insides are enchanted, showing me what could have been. Mirror mirror, on the wall.

God, I can’t believe I was so stupid. How could I not have seen you? So small, so precious.

My darling, I never meant it like this. I wouldn’t have cared that it would have been just us two against the world, no third pillar to hold us up. Of course, it would have been better, easier, with that pillar, and maybe that’s why you had to vanish. Like trying to grab dry-ice, or a bubble. So real and tangible, yet, when a fist closes over it, insubstantial. Maybe you weren’t right, something not happening within you, the first small warping becoming more and more severe, like driftwood in a tidepool. Rotting, warping, twisting.

Maybe I just couldn’t hear you.

The scream is locked inside me. I can’t let it out. If I let it out, I will dissolve like I did before, my arms wrapped like rope round my legs, my tears choking me, my heart snapping free of the ice I’ve frozen it in and burning in my chest. That flame will consume me. It’s science- the raw dry bones of me, the tinder in my soul: you set spark to that and I’m alight, the only sign of the burning house the glitter in its eyes. I mean windows.

What the hell do I mean?

All I know is I had you inside me, honing, carving, building, loving. Loving you even though I had no idea you were there. Of course I didn’t. Oh God, why didn’t I know you were there!? I should have felt you there, slowly trying to become something, one small spark to two to four to thirty-six. And onwards. A little finger forming. A face, a smile saved for later. A little heart.

That small heart should have been the loudest thing on the planet to me, and I was so deaf I didn’t hear it.

And the pain of your loss. The shredding knives in my insides, the fear. What the hell was going on? What was this? And the nagging fear as the blood began to flow, too thick, my head pounding with horror as I slowly understood.

And then the research. The disbelief. The wandering around numbly for days, the shudder that vibrated up from my insides, only for me to push it down, then slowly creeping up again. The pain, the pain that still flayed me hollow.

The shock of it sits in me where you were. Instead of the slow growth, the blossoming love, the bond, there’s sickness and a shock and a huge scooped out hollow between my hips where you lay.

I’ve lost you forever.


4 comments on “Written three years ago, for my little marble.

  1. sarahkreece says:

    Beautifully written. x

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