It looks like quiet mornings and second cups of coffee. It's a clean house with everything in its place. It looks like long dinners full of adult conversation and a second glass of wine and "How are you really doing, babe?"
It is spontaneity and last minute road trips. It looks like a quiet evening on the couch reading side by side.
It looks like morning temperature-taking and night-time crying into pillows. It looks like a cavernous home and closed doors to spare bedrooms to spare hearts.
It looks like feeling empty and filled with guilt for the emptiness. It looks like holding other people's babies and feeling both healing and heartache.
It looks like that familiar crease of disappointment I see on his face when I have to tell him month after month, "Not this time, love." And he responds, though his believability waning, "Maybe next month..."
It looks like clean windows and clean carpets and expensive dinners out and sleeping through the night.
It looks like pretending that her well-intended comment didn't break my heart.
It looks like negative pregnancy tests.
It looks like hopes soaring and hopes dashed. Week after week after painful week.
It looks like lonely Mother's Days and trying not to be selfish in my grief. It is so very lonely.
It looks like hope and heartbreak, joy and sorrow.
And it looks like try again tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment