Joseph, my little boy, my firstborn, my son, you would have been twenty months.
You would have been.
Oh, my sweet baby Joseph, you should have been.
I’ve got no more words than that, for now. I’ve got no time for words. My heart hurts as I go about my day, and I have no time for you. Tears threaten as I go about my day, and I have no time for tears. I pick at this scab on my heart nightly. Through layers of scar tissue I bleed anew for you. And then I have no time to tend my wounds.
© Burning Eye