Two months and twelve days.

Tomorrow is my birthday and today I’ve been crying because the crazy ache for this boy needs some kind of release. Today he is too vulnerable, too small, too loved for me to contain. Today when he cried it was too much for me to not know why or what to do exactly to fix it. Sometimes I nurse him lying on my side, and he is also on his side facing me, and I curve around him and that is the impulse today. The impossible impulse. To be the barrier between him and every single hurt; between him and the world.

Thought today that I’ll be ready for the time when he’ll be able to tell me in words what it is and what I can do.

I am too powerful and too powerless.

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