Books

I have been reading a book.

One of the characters gives birth to a baby.
A baby that everyone believes is a dream as the mother is older and her pregnancy seems to last for two years.

She births the baby alone. The baby is tiny with blue eyes.

A strange and unbelievable tale.

And although I was younger and my own pregnancy, far too short.
You are in my mind.

You never leave it. You are there all the time. My might have been.

My own tiny baby with the blue eyes. That seemed to see everything. Seemed to know everything.

***

Perhaps because of the book you were in my dreams.

A strange half-dream dredged up from a deep guilty afternoon nap.
It was your sister's face that was uppermost. A gaze of sadness and disgust.

I thought to myself so THAT is how Jessica looked as Georgina was dying. Which isn't the truth. Just a glutinous sticky thought peeled from sleep.

I didn't know she was there.

When you were dying, it seemed as though it were just you and me.

But obviously that is impossible.

She was there. She was in the room when you started to die. But not really. She was too busy trying to die herself. Two small brains firing away.

You finished dying somewhere else. Another room.
They move the dying to other rooms you see.
Away from your sister.

I'm still so sorry. Even after all this time. I'm just so sorry.

I only wish there were some way I could undo all of this.