I miss you.
I love you.
I want to touch you again, run my finger over your tiny cheek, pass on a kiss from my lips to your lips of mine. To measure your feet against my thumb, your arms against my fingers, to memorize every bit of perfection that was you. To look more closely at your perfect hands, with little fingers and tiny nails, to kiss your head, your tummy, your feet.
I wish you to be with me, in flesh and blood, alive again, to hear all the things I could not say, to feel all the touches I could not give, to be held and loved again, always, forever.
The ache of your absence is ever present, as you were ever present in my body. The pain left in your wake washes over me like the sea – constant, uncertain, in waves, sometimes pouring over me unexpectedly, sometimes lapping gently at my feet, at times grabbing me and pulling me and drowning me, at times gently holding me up. My tears are salty like the sea.
I loved you imperfectly, but I loved you. And I miss you, my precious son.