I dreamed of you last night.
I dreamed of you and the babies.
And of how I stood by their crib every night for a month,
not believing they were alive,
breathing
on their own and moving.
I stood by their crib every night for a month
and waited
because I was sure that they would stop.
I was certain they could not last.
Not mine.
Not ours.
Not of you and me.
How could we be so right?