To never hold you

I'm angry tonight. I'm angry because I can't hold you. I'll never be able to hold you in my arms or smell the milky sweet scent of your head. I'm angry because I don't even have a grave to visit. The thought of never holding you is like the thought of everything that ever was turning to dust. It. Is. Not. Fair.

Yesterday, I watched a new mother show her newborn off to friends and family. She was passing that soft warm little body around... a bundle of joy that put a smile on everyone's face. She positively beamed with joy and pride. I watched for a while and noticed I was holding my breath... as if holding my breath would prevent my pain from spilling over.

I'm angry tonight. I'm so angry because my future was taken from me. The warmth of your love and the promise of a happily ever after... you took it all and ran. You speak as if we never were... as if our dead child never lived inside me for three months... Actually, you don't speak to me at all. It's easier to erase the past that way, isn't it?

They say I have to be strong and that I have so much to live for. That's what they say. I only believe them when I'm not angry and I'm angry oh so hot-poker-up-the-arse-of-god angry most minutes of most hours of the day that I sometimes feel I'll implode like some dying star. And. That. Would. Be. Grace.