Brick

Seared into my heart and engraved on my wrist, the 16th is slowly approaching. It has been close to three years since my body failed at creating and sustaining a life.
The weeks leading up are difficult. I cannot bring myself to talk about how I feel, I'm not sure I even want to. At random, some days are harder than others. I pretend nothing is different, busying myself with work and small talk, anything to avoid being alone and remembering. Sometimes I drift in and out of character, getting lost in myself and then snapping back excessively.
I dread the night. I feel alone in the dark, balled up, perfectly still, and overwhelmed by the inability to shut out the thought process. This is when I feel it all over again, the constant dull ache, the rushing unstoppable wave of pain, followed by an infinite emptiness.
I've come to terms with my loss, that had it not occurred, I would not be where I am now. However, my emotional investment did not cease to exist along with my child.
I hurt, I miss you, I love you.