Last week there were 10 eggs. This went from 10 to 8, then 8 to 4, then 2, then 1. Just one remains. And now it is back home: a half, or 0, or 1.
You don’t dare hope.
A rainy car park. Silence. Both thinking. The touch of a warm hand. An ordinary day. Everything, or nothing, happens on ordinary days.
The pain is exhausting. Every day, the grief of the life you want but don’t yet have, and might never have. Trapped in the space between two worlds, two outcomes. It can only be 0 or 1. There is nothing between, but there we are. Somewhere between, but we don’t know where yet. It could be a beginning – the beginning – or another little death.
It hurts so much but you have to know. You can’t not know. You have to know. And try.