A/N: I wrote this in honor of my baby niece, who recently passed away. I just wanted to post it because I kind of like it, and I want some feedback. I don't know what you'd call this.
You won’t see this.
I know that. But that doesn’t mean I stop hoping that somehow, somewhere, you can. You can read this. You can see me. And, in your own way, you’re comforting me.
I sit here, looking at the night sky, thinking five hundred different things.
You would have loved the stars.
In my mind, you’re living in one of them. Smiling. I look again. All the stars are smiling at me.
I love you.
I miss you.
I know I didn’t know you well, but that’s probably why I miss you now. You were always at the fringe of my life, there but only when I remembered to stop and think. For a while, that was enough.
But now you’re gone.
I regret what happened. If I had my way, I would have known you as well as I know myself. No, better. I don’t actually know myself all that well.
There are so many things you should have been able to experience, little one.
The beach. Warm chocolate chip cookies. Your first birthday, which was right around the corner. I even had a present picked out. You should’ve been able know what rainbows look like and the uniquely strange and comfortable feeling of squishing mud between your pale, tiny toes.
I know now that this is for the better.
You no longer cry out in pain, stuck in antiseptic rooms, tubes protruding from your tiny arms. No more lights blaring, blinding your infinitely blue eyes.
But still, I wish. I know I shouldn’t. Things happen for a reason, right?
I may not understand the reasons now, but they’ll make themselves apparent, right? Right?
I believe that. I have to.
Rest easy, little one. We’ll meet again. When we do, I’ll bring you all the chocolate chip cookies you can eat. All the stars you will ever want to see. All the mud you could ever want to squish through.
And I’ll bring your birthday present.
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