The child that never was. I don't think about it, but something in my mind does. It's there, submerged in a hidden place that can only be found in my dreams. The child reminding me that it wanted to be mine. In the dream I am running for the plane before it leaves for Kuwait. My clothes are falling off. I am jumping over falling trees. Climbing endless ladders that break away and fall with me still clinging. I frantically search the plane for my child. I find her in a hidden room. I am in my underwear. I see people on the plane that I know, but ignore them. I don't feel like explaining myself. I beg my parents to take the child. They look on, detached and indifferent. They are empty shells. I have nothing. I can't care for this child with ice cold feet. I have no socks for it. I listen to myself talking calling it "it" and remind myself it is a "she". Or is it a "he"? I don't care, because it is safe with me now. I will not torture myself for the rest of my life, worrying about my child's future. I wake up, realizing I already took the future away.
This time I only shed a single tear, but my heart is breaking.
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