I am still pregnant.
I spend most of my time largely ignoring the fact that that phrase belongs to me. But then I find myself wide awake in the early hours of the morning, submerged by the stream of possibilities. The fingertips of my mind frantically trace the thread of this pregnancy, senselessly trying to undo the heavy tangle of knots, searching in vain for the free end, the conclusion.
I remind myself that I won’t find the answers in that twisted filament. Only time will tell if the line is short or long, smooth of heavily frayed. I can only grab on and trace its contours day by day, propelled by equal parts fear and hope.
I have never known birth without death.
But I know that, from one end to another, not a single piece is mine to control. This is a lesson that I mastered long ago. If only it were as easy to accept.