To the baby that will not live,
Your mother is too scared of the world and of living to bring another life into existence, too afraid that you will suffer from the same fears or, worse, have none of the fears and your bravery will kill you the way her sadness and ache for things she can’t name is killing her.
Your father can barely make ends meet to pay his rent and pay for school and pay for food and pay for gas and pay for the incidentals of life; it’s not that he doesn’t want you, he can’t afford you, he can’t afford himself.
Your mother is too afraid that she’ll pass on to you the worst of herself instead of the best because she can’t control what genes transfer to you and she needs to have control and you are too much out of her control for her to handle right now.
Your father is afraid that he won’t hold you correctly, that he won’t know what to do when you cry. He is afraid that he will slowly become his own father, a shadow he has never fit into and he never wants to.
Dear baby, you will never know their faces, you won’t know any faces. But you will also never know the darkness that your mother feels, the panic your father has to overcome before leaving the house. You will never know the fear that they feel, the weight burdening them. Love them despite their flaws and forgive them. Forgive them.
I am a coward so I am going to kill you.
You will be a burden, so you must die.
I am what matters most, not you.
And now you must die.
Please love me anyway.
See this baby’s future…
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