It’s funny, no one remembers what it was like to be separated, your bloodline cut with sharp blades, making you breathe on your own. A body now becomes two, the home you once knew is now outside of you.

It’s funny cause, if we remembered, maybe loss wouldn’t hurt so bad. Maybe the familiarity of separation, cut with sharp blades, being pushed out by severe force into the cold unfamiliar air would ease our cries. Allowing us to know that after loss, there is life.

Perhaps finding solace in the artificial warmth of a blanket and accepting it as our new home wouldn’t be first met with the bewilderment of an infant but the reassurance of a bridge already crossed, landing safely on the other side.

Birth, its funny how it takes places over and over, a home you once knew now outside of you, but everyone only celebrates the one no ones remembers.

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