Pregnancy loss is grief with nowhere obvious to place flowers. I still count months the way I counted them before everything stopped. There are tiny things I bought that feel louder than furniture. I do not know where to put love when there is no first birthday to aim at. It is such a specific pain to have no public memory for someone private and permanent inside you. The body does not forget just because the paperwork was brief. I keep imagining milestones for someone who never got to have one. I am tired of people treating an absence like a replaceable slot.
The Wall
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