Woke from nightmares with a cry (her face was wet but she couldn’t speak anymore, so near death, she could give no more comfort and answer no more questions). I’ve cried so hard my face is swollen. I have to get up for class, my favourite today, sculpture. I want to turn out the light and go back to bed and try to dream sweeter dreams. I wonder if that’s what a brief life is like for a miscarried embryo, a sleep, a dream, and a sleep. I wonder if they ever get any other dreams. I can see the faces of people lost to me and the world itself seems fragile, paper torn in the wind. My hopes of safety, meaning, reconciliation all feel like a child’s dream. A sense of order where there is no order, only darkness, only loss. It seems unbearable to be human today. Our baby is safe, but we march into the future as if all will be well, as if there will be no cost. I feel friends falling like autumn leaves, into death. With dawn comes dusk. We love, and are consumed, and some day our arms are empty. A cold wind blows right through me.