Her Name is Bliss

A Letter

It was our hope. Your mother and I truly believed you would be born happy into a world of laughter, for that was how our love had come to be. She fell for me, my constant laughter, and I fell for her because she was behind every laugh, every chuckle, every grin, every mischievous glint in my eye, every devious giggle.

The day you opened your eyes however, the world was dark. The moon was dead in the sky. It lay there draped in its silk of darkness and clouds, and your mother lay in wrinkled sheets. By the times your eyes opened with tears in place, she had already been taken. Ironic isn't it? Laughable even. A reaper, who collects lives, had to collect the life of the one he loved. He was not even spared that tragic, insulting, task. So instead of laughter, you were born into tears.

You were born in to the howling agony that is losing the one you love, and you added your own shrill screams to the howling, as if from that almost nonexistent age you already understood your loss. With every howl and bitter growl, I felt my sanity slipping. So in a desperate rush, with what remained of my tattered sanity, I took you in my arms and scribbled this note so you could have something to live off.

I loved you. I loved you from the moment your big round eyes stared at me through tears. I loved you even as you dragged out your mother's life and set it in my hands to collect. I love you even now as I am forced to hide you away. You hold your mother's smile. I can see it even through the despaired pouting. I hope that you have that laughter I had. Laughter that came easily and full of bliss. But seeing the conditions in which you were born into, I fear that it may be the exact opposite.

So, I will name you Bliss. So you may never forget what you were born from, and how we hoped you would live. Because how sad it would be, should all laughter disappear.

―Crevan