Amour [h.s]

☼ fifty seven ☼

"Did some force take you because I didn't pray? Every single thing to come has turned into ashes 'cause it's all over, it's not meant to be"

☼ ☼ ☼

Trigger warning: grief

Amelie

It's been a year.

Three hundred and sixty five days since we lost our baby girl.

A year since we held her in our arms, pressed kisses to her perfect face, and watches her chest rise and fall for the final time.

We watched her skin grow white and her lips quickly turn purple.

It's been a whole year.

A whole year of the most unimaginable pain. Pain that would never leave us. We'd never be able to shake it.

Some people say the pain it good, because it proves just how much we love her, or that the pain is a reminder that she was once our reality.

But I don't want to feel pain on a level like this.

I've had a whole year of feeling this pain. A whole year of dragging myself out of bed and forcing a smile onto my face. A whole year of having to just look at her ashes that sit in our living room, or watch as rainbows shine over our garden. And I hate it.

Because Amora should be in our arms.

I don't want to look for her in sunsets or in the stars. I want her to be in the nursery with Bodhi. Where she should be.

"Amelie baby look at me" Harry's voice rings through my ears. Both of our bodies shaking with sobs, and despite his indescribable pain, he still attempts to comfort me.

"She's gone, she's gone, she's gone" I break down in his arms. The only words I've been able to get out all day.

She's gone and we can't get her back.

It felt personal. It felt like a punishment sometimes. A punishment for maybe not trying hard enough, or for not being kind enough.

"But she loves you, I love you. I'm right here, please just look at me" he begs. But I refuse to look in those grief stricken eyes.

I can barely even see out of my clouded vision. Hot tears coat my eyes, and I make no move to clear them. They're here to stay.

"She's gone" I choke into his shoulder, the chemical smell of his hoodie that he still hasn't washed since the day Amora died, isn't helping the situation either. It still smells like the NICU and I hate it.

I hate that Amora never smelt of home. She smelt of chemicals and medicine and stupid plastic boxes.

She didn't smell like ours. And I hate it.