I found a card today from a gelateria,

 tucked in a book of poetry and all of a sudden, it is March, 2011. We've driven from Pisa, a carry-on a piece for a week. We held hands, on the flight Tuscany. Almost 6 years to the day that we met...a lifetime ago, now, and I couldn't breathe when he left my sight.

Every where I turned that week, The Virgin Mary and her cherub son smiled at me. All I could see was prussian blue.

We stayed outside the city.  I cried myself to sleep most nights, my breasts aching with the weight of unused milk.  The begging started then, please just hold me...But there was so much fear that I would break, I think. Some days, we never moved beyond that moment, a room cover in pinkish water, a gurney being rushed into a theatre. 'Go with the baby,' I remember wanting it to be a shout, but I was only just back on this side of the divide.