One cappuccino. Skimmed milk. Extra hot. 

Baby Blue

"It's a boy"
With trembling fingers I squeezed his hand. The smile illuminating my face could not be missed. God had answered my prayers. It's a boy. My second born, my sweet mistake, will be a boy.

                                                               -----------------------

I'd always wanted a son. First time around, I'd been crushed when the ultrasound revealed a girl. I wanted a boy so much. And then this; this unplanned pregnancy, that I didn't want, that I resented at the beginning. I will give birth to a son. A son to pamper and spoil; who'll pamper and spoil me in my old age. Who'll make me laugh with stories of his friends, and make me jealous with stories of his girlfriends. Who I'll watch grow up from mummy's little boy, to become his mother's joy and pride. Her rock. Her support. Her stability. Her man.
My baby.

                                                             ---------------------------

I fell in love immediately with those baby blue eyes. So clear. So innocent. Looking up at me with the wisdom of an old man, not the puffy laziness of a new born. Something in him reminded me of my dad. For some reason, I could not quite put my finger on. He did not look anything like him. He was the spitting image of his sister, but with those hauntingly beautiful baby blue eyes. He held on to me with the neediness of a stranger in unknown surroundings. I held on to him with the desperation of a mother longing to meet the growing fetus in her womb. With him, I did not need to learn motherhood. With him, I just ached to see him, touch him, nurse him, love him a complete and wholesome love.
I could not stop kissing his soft cheeks, and his tiny hands. I would not let anyone hold him for longer than two minutes. I would not let the nurses take him away to nap. I would not even let his father take him away from me. I could not get enough of my baby. My son.

                                                              -------------------------------

Two days later, they took him away from me. They told me he was ill. Some mild illness that needed special care. I cried and sobbed even though they assured me it was nothing. I did not want him taken away from me; placed in a glass incubator where I could not hold him. A gnawing pain in my heart started eating away at me. Everyone told me I was overreacting. They did not know that with a mother's instinct, I knew my baby was suffering. I knew that there was something terribly wrong with my son. Something I would not want to hear or believe.
The days and nights became a blur. The only constant was the stool the nurses had put for me next to his incubator, where I placed my sterilised hand in his for hours, sobbing silently, praying inwardly for the day I would get to hold my baby again. I could not nurse him, because he could not be moved away from his oxygen supply. I could not kiss him, in case I would have passed on an infection. Every emotion I felt for him had to be transferred through our hands, held tightly for hours. When he cried, nothing soothed him except curling his tiny fingers around mine. My tears fell in abundance, tears I'd never cried in my entire life, washing away none of the pain and helplessness I felt. Sometimes, I wanted to shatter the glass of his incubator, accusing it of being the barrier between me and my son. Other times, I wanted to scream at the doctors for jabbing him with all those needles. More times, I just wept alone, refusing every attempt to tear me away from the hospital.
I could see my baby, begging me with his baby blue eyes, to take away his pain and suffering. I could almost read the expression in his eyes, blaming me for not protecting him, like I'd protected him, fed him, and nurtured him when he was inside my womb.

                                                           -----------------------------

My son died 25 days after the day he had lit up my entire existence. I held his dead body close to my heart, the first time I'd been able to hold him completely after they'd taken him away. Some insane part of me thought that maybe my grief would revive him; that maybe my tears falling down on his face would awaken him to life again. I did not sob or scream. I did not fall apart. I just held my child in my arms, kissed him goodbye, and then my tears dried up.
No tears, no weeping, and no sobbing could ever equal the anguish I felt, and still feel to this day, eight years later.
My son was dead. I would never hold him, ever again. He would not grow up to be the young man I had dreamed he would be. He would not have friends, or girlfriends. He would not tickle me or make me laugh. He would not make me yell at him for neglecting his chores, or annoying his sister. He was gone, forever. He would not scrape his knees riding his bicycle. He would not be taught football by his father. He would not have the broad shoulders I knew he would've inherited from both of us. He would not learn to shave his stubble, the one I knew I would've teased him about in his adolescence.
The baby blue eyes were shut, never to open again.

                                                          ------------------------------

Till we meet again, I hold you in my heart.

Never enough

It seems as though those endless moments are never enough. It seems as though the thirst is never quenched.
It seems as though that void will never be filled.
It seems as though the distances will never be covered.
It seems untrue.
It makes no sense.
The language we speak is suddenly foreign.
The emotions we feel are somewhat alien.
Genuine words spoken to deaf ears. Only then does silence seem the only response.
What the eyes have seen, no words can erase.
What the heart has felt, the mind cannot forget.
When consciousness refuses the truth, but an aching soul embraces it, wallowing sadly among the bitter sweet memories.
When a choice is within reach, being rejected over and over again. When despair settles in for no apparent reason.
Why?
A question left unanswered.
Why is all that never enough?

She walked the shoreline and touched the tips of her fingers to the sparkling water. She skipped a couple of steps and smiled her radiant smile. She stopped and looked up at the sun, squinting her eyes to its illuminant rays. She spread her arms and embraced the soft breeze.
She sat down and let the tears come. Slowly, gently at first, then pouring freely as the seconds passed by.
Nothing is constant.
Even the faintest of promises are broken.
Even the longest of nights end.
Even the kindest of hearts harden.
Even the toughest of wills surrender.

Nothing is constant.
Even the waves.
Even the waves decline and leave the shoreline, retreating softly into oblivion.

That twinkle in your eyes.....

That sideways look. That mischievous glint. Those smiling eyes.
They say so much.
And hold back much more.
That twinkle in your eyes.....
Simply draws me in.

The Twin

Standing in the shadow of reluctance. Waiting for his turn. He smiles with vanity, that lopsided grin. He knows he'll win. Eventually, you'll give in. That's what he's always known. He's always had the upper hand. He waits and waits. True, some days he waits longer than he should, but that's the price he's willing to pay. For what is more fulfilling than taking over the soul of his saviour? What's more captivating than surrendering to his own whims?
You look at him and shake your head. The smile you give doesn't reach your eyes. It's sad and lonely, full of regret. You rest your gaze on his silhouette. You wish you could wipe that smirk off his face. You want to tell him that he's never won. You move your lips to try and speak, then stop to think. You always crack, just when you're ahead.
He takes one step. You take two. You let him in, just like you always do.
You relinquish your resentment, and smile his lopsided grin.
With blurred vision, no one can even tell, who's him, and who's you.
You let him stutter and laugh away. But you know deep down, his confidence has gone astray. That lurking presence was only a show. Once more he's lost, once more you've won. You let him do exactly what you want. That gleam in his eyes is a match to your own.
You close your eyes, and embrace your reunion.
And you willingly succumb to your beloved twin.