An Endless Bleed

by OWAIN GLYN EVANS

She was pregnant with grief now. She had learned, three months ago, that grief is not a sensation like happiness or excitement; grief is not fleeting, and it does not come and go as it chooses. Her grief swells within her as an eternal hunger, being her, owning her. Engulfing her. Grief seeps from her as an endless bleed from an open wound, and beats within her as the echo of a pulse her baby boy left behind.

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