Dear B

I miss you terribly

These letters are the only truth in my life. I will burn them soon, destroy them one by one, like my grandmother’s testimonies.  I will burn them so they vanish completely from the unbearable reality.

Motherhood is not for me. I hate it. This has never been about love; they lied to me, all of them. It is more about this awful remorse and endless shame. 

I take him in my arms, caress his soft hair; offer him my engorged breasts and cracked nipples, not out of love, but out of guilt. 

I made him; I need to ensure his survival. But do I need to love him?

I look at the bloody marks on my belly. Monsters, I whisper, they are all savage monsters!

Oror, oror, oror…don’t cry please.

the letters are always kept tightly in a small drawer.

the letters are never sent

the recipient is always absent

the sender longing

Hurt, hurt, too much hurt. Unbearable. 

V. will take him away for a while. I can’t stand hearing his cry anymore. She will walk with him in the forest. Oror, oror… and he will sleep there and forget my smell.

The scar on my torn belly is getting too large, too deep

So large that it will soon swallow me completely

Oror, oror, oror

I can’t bear the sight of it.

I can’t bear the sight of me.

L.