28.5.10

I've bled your blood

Thank you for your tears and your blood. They've mixed on our bed, forever stained by our love gone wrong.

My body failed you. And it didn't even get to the point to show the palms of your hands the wonders it hid inside.

We aren't novices.

We know of bloody hospital sheets, the stench of surgical disinfectant and of residents and nurses that chat away ignoring drugged-up me on the table, just about to be cut open.

An anesthesiologist asked a nurse about her son while he waited for me to surrender to sedation and have our baby (or its remains) scrapped from my insides.

And I'm always a trouper, I'm always a patient that doesn't want to cause problems, I'm the one who doesn't cry and makes jokes just before I get broken.

I don't know what you do while I'm out. While all the king's horses and all the king's men unsuccessfully try to put me back together again.

The most beautiful declaration of your love was when you tried to break through the sunroof of your car with your fist.

I bled your blood and I painfully passed your life during that horrific night.

My love, in ten years I've held your life inside of me.

But I failed you this time.

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