Black.
I started swirling black paint on my canvas. Allowing it to drip its own pattern down, taking shape, like it had a mind of its own.
This color described my days and what I was now. An empty vessel with a black hole in the center.
For weeks, I felt like I was floating into nothingness. I had nothing to look forward to, nothing to hope for. I was taking one day at a time, taking each breath with the sole purpose of making it to the next. Nothing more. I was alive. But I wasn’t really living.
That day I had woken up in the hospital, everything crumbled before me. It was the moment that I felt I’d lost my past, my present, even my future.
The man that I loved walked out of my life with no hopes of ever coming back. The life I wanted to nurture inside me was gone, even before I could fully acknowledge its presence. And then the doctors said I had a small percentage of conceiving life inside me again.
For a while, I bla
