Blossom

Blossom WM

She held her belly and she cried. It was a strong sensation that was felt most internally, in the very core of her stomach. It spread through her veins awakening her arms and legs and it continued into her fingertips and her littlest of toes.

He did not know she was crying. To him her pain did not exist but it was not his fault. She felt strongly of this. It was not his fault and there was no one to blame.

The pair first came to know one another on Christmas Day and became better acquainted over the spring. A rather unexpected introduction, albeit one she blissfully welcomed.

It was her favourite time of year, springtime. The season of new life and of new beginnings, of sunshine and of daffodils. Daffodils yellow like the sun. The sun the symbol and very essence of life.

Throughout this period her family began to accept him and to relinquish all hostility towards him. The news had come as a shock to them all and they had not yet met him but in seeing how happy she had become, they began to warm to the idea.

She decided these were all signs and that they were pointing in the same direction. In the right direction that is. To think of them in this way would bring her comfort and make her smile. She liked to feel this way and seeing the signs made it possible. They became her truth.

As the weeks went by, they continued to spend all their time together. She loved having him around and the connection they shared.

There were times she would lay in bed and shut out everything around her just to feel closer to him. Amplify his presence. Intensify his touch. In these moments and in this state of mind, she felt most close to him, she felt their connection.

When she laid there in the dark, very quiet and very still, she would allow her mind to wander while pimples formed on her arms which she forgot to slip under the quilt. Eyes wide open, she would get lost in her own thoughts, taking strides towards the future and imagining all the ways in which their relationship could evolve.

She fantasised about the experiences they had yet to have, the milestones she would share with him and the overwhelming number of things they each had yet to learn.

The best thing of all was that he made her most happy. From the very first moment, he made her oh so happy. And it was within this profound happiness where her love for him was rooted. A love which grew every day and yet a love that had not the chance to blossom.

Perhaps it was too intense, her love for him. Perhaps it came too soon and perhaps he was not ready. Perhaps she should have taken things slow as she had been advised to do.

She thought back to the signs of springtime. The signs she had created like metaphors. Signs that once filled her with glee and now only enlarged her emptiness.

Empty, that’s what she was. She was empty.

Becoming aware of her fingers once again, she mustered the strength to uncurl them. Slowly. One by one. Of course they remained where she had left them, gently pressed against her swollen tum.

The best thing of all was that he made her most happy. From the very first moment, he made her oh so happy. And it was within this profound happiness where her love for him was rooted. A love which grew every day and yet a love that had not the chance to blossom.

From the floor, she picked him up and held him for the very last time. He felt so extraordinarily fragile in her fully grown hands which only highlighted his sheer minuscule size. Had he time to develop hands? She could not bare to look. Her tiny foetus in her fully grown hands.

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