Unbecoming

 23.03.2026

The unborn child,

conceived with love,

kept from becoming.

A decision.

Practicality.

You return

in dreams—

a tiny head,

glistening with amniotic fluid,

cradled within the womb,

whispers—

“Why did you knock me out?”

I wish I had

let those tiny hands

curl around my finger.

But—

I was not the mother then.

I was a woman

trying to create my life,

to fulfil my dreams.

You would have altered everything.

Today—

no guilt.

Only tenderness

fills.

You remain.

Still, 

I wonder—

is it sorrow

or something stronger

that asks again—

“Why?”