I stood on the beach not far from you, but enough so I thought your glow couldn’t physically touch me. I knew that the rays would burn if they grazed my arm.
I watched, knowing your every movement would cause me deep pain, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away. Your hormonally thick hair, in an easy ponytail, a perfectly comfortable but fitting t-shirt dress for your eight months to be displayed and your 20-something year old legs…thin, but strong enough to carry your tiny + baby frame.
The moments came, as I knew they would, when you rubbed your belly in mid conversation, then stopped and just like a shield, held your hands in place around your bump. You would smile. The deepest happiness exploding from the corners of your mouth.
And I thought awful, jealous things. I thought desperate, sad things. And I swiped tears away, pretending that sand had blown in my eyes.
But mostly, I thought how beautiful you were. I wondered if you knew how lucky you were. And I thought how I’d give anything to be standing there, with my hair in an easy ponytail, in a perfectly comfortable but fitting t-shirt dress for my eight months to be displayed and shielding my belly while smiling – the deepest happiness exploding from the corners of my mouth.