Thinking of You

June 16, 2018. That would be the day you'd be born.
And I wish I could say I haven't thought about it everyday since. That the days don't suffocate me with the thought of what could've been. Who you could've been.
And I feel like I can't talk about this with anyone, because only a handful of people knew, and I feel like the subject has been worn to those I have confided in. The others, they won't understand why I am feeling the way I am. It was my choice. I was too young, I wasn't ready, I was scared.
I knew I would have the support of those who loved me. I knew even though my boyfriend- your father- was scared too, he would work as hard as he could to give you the life you deserved. The life you deserved.
And I dream about you sometimes. You visit me and tell me little details about yourself that I would've known in a month. Like your name. Or what your laugh sounds like. Your hair color.
And I feel so silly for believing that maybe these dreams actually mean something and that it really is you visiting me. Maybe it's just my imagination? Or a wish that I could really have you?
But I know that my mom and my aunt and a lot of women in my family have dreams that do mean something and do come true, dreams that are prophetic.
So why not mine?
I see you and I wake up longing to hold a child that isn't here. And I cry inside because June is only a month away. A month away.
I used to think that the time would pass by so slowly and I'd be afraid of the comments and the stares. What would I do?
But now, here I am, still thinking of you. The day growing heavier in my mind. I wish I could know you. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I was stronger.
One day I will meet you. I will see you and I will tell you how much I love you, even though we haven't met. And you will tell me that it was you in my dreams and oh how excited you were for this moment.
Me too.
Me too...