June 8th, noonish, my 34th Birthday.

I took myself to the local reservoir.

Laid on a rock jetty + got into the fetal position.

I wanted to talk to her.

My womb twin (who didn’t make it).

Just days before, her hidden imprint became conscious.

‘Can we talk?’, I asked.

I heard nothing + balled up even tighter.

The water in all directions swelled and soothed my growing grief.

‘Are you there?’, I pleaded.

Still nothing.

Agony of the deepest tone rung out {{{‘forget me’}}}

This message, though not from her, was my marching order.

It was time to forget something I just remembered.

It was time to let go of my first love.

And the story of guilt permeating it.

That somehow it was my fault she didn’t make it.

That I’m the ‘wrong’ person I’ve falsely + so subconsciously known myself to be.

The days following, surely covered all 5 stages.



Rage @ her for leaving. Rage @ me for staying.

I felt evil.

Than suicidal.

I grunted, groaned + gripped the phone w/ 911 in fingers reach.

1 in 8.

One in eight(!)

Are said to be vanishing womb twins.

A high percentage don’t you think?

I’m left with why?

Why do we choose to incarnate w/ beings that don’t make it all the way through?

Perhaps to move our human story toward the cosmic one.

Beyond beliefs of ‘I’m alive’ + ‘I’m dead’.

Where we operate as souls who are neither alive nor dead.

Rather a part of life itself.

A WHOLE part.

From this place it seems love is easier.

Without the loom of loss, it’s all that’s left.

I write this for those who have loved + lost.

For those who have lost + forgotten they’ve lost (as I did).

I write this for those experiencing the pain of mistaking they are somehow incomplete w/out…

Him. Her. Them.

I understand that pain.

That pain is asking us to fall through.

And keep falling.

Thru the sky.

Because that’s what we’re doing.

Falling thru the sky.


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