Every month, for months to come

I prepare this home every month for your arrival. And every month you don’t show up.

I started doing it ever since I became aware of my existence. I think she must have been around thirteen then.

Like a good hostess, I clean the place, put up fancy decorations and make the place comfortable.

Every month, when you don’t arrive, I wash away the decor in dismay, and mourn for a few days.

When I have mourned enough, I start preparing all over again like nothing happened. I prepare excitedly, wait joyously, and then let it all go sadly.

Again and again.

Sometimes, I admit, I get so distressed on not seeing you that I intentionally hurt her to make her cry.

But I never lose hope, each month anew. A race against time — some invisible clock she says.

I am resilient though, so I will wait and keep preparing each month for as long as I can. I do hope I get a chance to have you as my guest for a good nine months someday soon. And for that time, this home, this womb, will be whole.