2009-08-22 - 1:41 a.m.
1. He was born to her and slipped away, gray and still in the unconscious part of the universe.
When we were together, I took care of him in my painful, shameless way. I did the best I could with what I had, refrain of mothers everywhere from every time.
2. Thoughts overrubbed. Synaesthesia and nervous tics in a compulsive, repeating hurt.
Jagged was the break, notched with unforgiven acts that took years to uncleft. She came back and took him, and if you believe in fate or that sort of thing (which I don't, but I do) then you would know she was there originally. I thought I was there first, but I am sure it was her from the very beginning.
Can I feel like a foster mother forced to give the child back to the natural mother? Maybe I'm allowed to feel that way in the part of my brain reserved for hopeful thoughts about human happiness and love as a sanctifying thing.