So hard to look at, all bloody and small. A baby, can I really call you a baby? Yes, yes. Dare you be anything but the baby that was suppose to be. Dreams, plans, oh so many plans, sacrifices made and others to be, why , oh why could you not hold on? Oh so small, the current was to fast. I can see that holding on was futile but why? Here I held you, fascinated by your perfectly protected home. Swimming in my clinical observations rather than embracing my child.
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