You are just an idea.

Sometimes a little boy with black hair visits me at night, he comes and sits on the foot of my bed and smiles.

He is 9 years old, but he can't speak because he's just an idea.

His eyes are blue like my uncles, and like someone I haven't seen in a very long time.

He used to scare me, but I'm alright with him now because he was real and even if it's just in my quiet moments, he comes back sometimes to remind me that I stole something from him.

In 2011 I got an abortion, I used to believe that it wasn't killing.

I changed my mind because of my occasional visitor.