so you've got a heartache in your belly. & as you casually told me " it's about the size of a thumbnail right now " i looked down & realized i needed to clip mine. your eyes dimmed like theatre lights when i closed the curtain on your monologue about motherhood to tell you we couldn't keep it. & i probably never loved you more than those days where we would sit in silence, thinking about how empty we were about to become -- you literally, & me….desperately. & we went to that sterile building with the bulletproof glass windows & the chubby old woman, using a blue blouse as a veil to cover the layers of stress & years underneath. she spoke to us through an echoing intercom in a grave attempt to keep her distance from our fingernail problem. we got buzzed in & we waited & we sat close but god you were so far away & i reached out & grabbed your hand to pull you back in & you looked over at me -- overpassed me -- & the ghost of a smile haunted your lips for a second…. they called your name, well not your name…not the name i call you, but the one your dad gave you, & they told me i couldn't go back there with you & i said i understood but i never will. the waiting room filled with somber souls, & we all pretended like it was just a normal doctor's office but it was obvious who the better actors were as some randomly burst into tears like confetti poppers at a birthday party. we all knew we were at a funeral but they turned up the volume on the TV like the quiche that Rachel Ray was baking would make us forget the mistakes we were burying & i remembered the picture you showed me that looked like an x-ray of a jelly bean & said " that's it. that's what it looks like. " & you stared at my face like you were trying to memorize my expression in that exact moment so you could dig it up whenever you needed to hate me again, but then you came out of that door holding your belly & i knew you wouldn't need to dig that up because you would have no problem hating me anymore.