13 days old.
I'm in the incubator, I have not lived yet.
Home is where I should be.
13 weeks old.
Life is new.
Life is fresh.
Life was not supposed to happen for me.
13 fortnights old.
I am old.
I am not a child.
I am no longer young.
13 months old.
So young.
Yet so old with such a mind.
Such a concept that I was never supposed to live.
I should not be alive.
13 years old.
I am lying in my bed.
My body is still young, but I will never be the same as I once was.
I have never felt peace in my shallow life.
Years, months, weeks go by, I can't describe the kind of heavy my heart feels.
Mother always said, "my miracle baby."
You know how much you mean to me.
I spent thirteen days in that thing.
I was not supposed to live.
I came to you thirteen days early.
I was not supposed to live.
You were in labor for thirteen hours.
I was not supposed to live.
Thirteen is a number in America frowned upon by every corporation.
You will never find a thirteenth floor in America.
Those tall towers always skip such a number.
In America, thirteen is as bad a number as four in china.
Thirteen represents bad luck, awful omens and all morbid things to come.
I have lived.
I have learned.
I am no longer blind.
My whole life revolves around this number.
The whole reason I am alive is because of this number.
I was born simply to grieve.
I was born to die.
I was born to be cursed with such a horrid life.
Such dread, such guilt, such shame and terror.
I can fondly recall most of the bad things that have happened to me.
My mother, the prime example and #1 person in my life has died.
Right before my birthday.
The thirteenth of January.
My poor puppy, the same old girl, has also died.
Right before my birthday.
The thirteenth of January.
I live, nobody can deny this.
Harshly, terribly, solemnly.
But I am a child of bad fortune.
I will forever have bad things come to me.
I am a problem magnet.
I am a child of misfortune.
I am the child of everything terrible.
The child of thirteen.
