Life is improvisation,
get used to it

A wave of nausea hits as I open my eyes.
This has been happening every morning
for a week now.
I make it to the bathroom
just in time to empty the contents of my stomach
into the porcelain bowl.
Sweat drips down my face and neck
and I am shaking desperately.
Suddenly a thought comes creeping through
and I freeze cold
and place a hand over my stomach,
my womb.
Could it be?
No
Please god no

~37 minutes later~

I hold my breath while I wait for the result
when a memory slips into the forefront of my mind.
My grandmother used to say
"Don't hold your breath when making wishes,
the devil will steal your air
and curse your wish."
I release my breath in a rush
just as the little blue plus sign appears.
No
*baby baby no

The TV light flickered on the fireplace's glass,
and for a second my mind was tricked into thinking there was a fire in its hearth.
The trickery brought memories of snow, cinnamon, and you.
Unfortunately, I never caught your eye like the flicker of fire,
And I never felt your lips on mine,
like snowflakes dissolving on my tongue,
and leaving behind a sweet taste.
But it's August now,
And my love for you has long since melted with the cold snow.

We don't know where we're going,
or what we're doing.
We don't know what happens next
or if we make it.
We don't know if we die
or if we keep fighting.
Sometimes there isn't much of anything.
Life is anticlimatic.
That's it.
That's just it.
Life is anticlimatic.