Your heartbeat once filled my Womb;
now only silence lives beneath my ribs.
The body I grew for you over eight months,
turned from flesh to ash in minutes.
The bones I would’ve protected, now weightless,
as my womb aches for your presence.
The day you left this world,
a part of me departed as well.
Like sand slipping through my fingers,
your absence leaves me with empty hands.
Now, all I’m left with are the remnants of your bones,
that sit upon my altar—proof that you did exist.
I mourn you in every moment, and until my last breath, where we’ll meet again;
I will remember you.
Last time I saw Ara in the physical, at the funeral home.