His hair would have curled like yours.

My stomach is sick, and turning. Round and round slowley like the rickety faris wheel you refused to ride with me. I had it in my head, a perfect vision of a perfect kiss. We'd be high above all the filth of the world and we'd kiss. But you hated faris wheels, and I should have known.

My hands shake, and I can't control it. I gave you control, I always did. I willingly handed you the remote, and pretended to be interested in what you put on. But my heart was heavy and my tender womb was empty. And your movie made me cry. And your lack of sensitivity made me cry, and I cried on your couch. But you didn't wipe my tears, and you didn't turn it off. Because you hated my past, and I should have known.

And you are gone now. Far away. And as hard as I fight to keep you with me while pushing you away nothing changes. Nothing changes for me and I should know by now.

My head replays our life together, little reels of tape spin continuously. But its a sick, broken movie. Our movie makes a porno feel like home. And the home you left me with feels like the set of a dirty movie. And I force myself to breath through my mouth because the taste of sin is easier to ignore than the smell.

But the pain won't leave me, and everything takes me back to him. He would have been our son, and you would have been the sweetest Dad. But you didn't want him.

And you don't want me.