Tangible Feelings

Joy was her name, the small child growing in the confines of her womb. She was joy, and she was beautiful.

Surprise was the shattered glass on her parent's new hardwood floor. It was the inflection in her father's voice when he asked, "Whose?"

Content rested as feathers in her pillows, supporting her growing weight while she ran clammy fingers over her taut abdomen. 

Hurt swirled in the forgotten bottle of tequila under her sink, the one that still held two different lip prints from the night that ended in blood and tears and regret.

Remorse slept with a torn look on his handsome face three apartments down, tossing and turning in his sleep from dreams of the word "no."

Forgiveness was in the apologies spewed from truthful lips, the creased eyebrows, the sobbing she heard through thin walls. But more than that, it was in the ashes of torn clothes she burned.

Fear was the drip of sweat that cascaded down her legs, seeping into the thin material of her shoes at the uncomfortable twist in her side.

Confusion took form of the thick black glasses perched at the end of the doctor's nose while he read over newly printed sheets of paper. It lost itself somewhere between agony and heartbreak when he finally looked her in the eyes.

When rage entered, it shocked her gentle heart. An axe to her morals just like the baseball bat she took to his car. The car that had once given her comfort, the car that had once almost been theirs. 

Grief blared in the night with calls. Parents. Sister. Boss. That is until she heard his voice on the speaker and unplugged the cord from the wall, scraping fingers across a greasy scalp.

Coping fell from the diaper box one at a time, landing with thuds into the dumpster behind her building. It was soon covered by colorful onesies and unused shoes.

Joy was her name, the small child no longer growing in the confines of her womb. She was joy, and she was beautiful. Even if she didn't stick around long enough for Love to see her.