My body is still making milk for you.

It blows my mind. You died more than three months ago. And I’ve made milk for you every day since you were born. Not much; not more than a few drops each day.

I’m glad. I actually check almost every day to see if it’s still coming. It feels like the only tie I have to you–the only proof you were real. It reminds me that it’s okay that I’m still sad. If my body hasn’t gotten over you yet, maybe it’s okay that my heart hasn’t. My body is just crying with me…but it’s tears are white.

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