You were supposed to morn over me. In a very long time.
You were supposed to morn over me. In a very long time. When my hair had turned white, and we had shared many years together. You would dress me up in my finest clothes and comb my hair. Together with your sisters. My little trio. You would stroke my wrinkled cheek. One last time. And you would cherish our laughs and sorrows that we shared. But this was not the way it would be. I was the one to morn you. Way too soon. You were only a few weeks inside me. Not even born. I never got to dress you up. Or comb your hair. The way I did with your sisters. My little duo. I did not get to stroke your cheek. Not even once. And I can only dream of the laughs and sorrows we never got to share. This is the way it was.