Elián;
The swing creaks softly beneath me as I push off the ground with the tips of my feet.
It's an old thing, made from pale wood and braided vines, hung beneath a wide-spread tree whose leaves rustle like whispers even when the wind travels through them.
I like it here. The rhythm is steady. Forward, back. Forward, back. It helps when things slow down, especially when my thoughts start tangling in on themselves.
My eyes lock keenly on my stomach as I swing.
Sometimes I forget there's life growing there… and other times, it's all I can think about.
A year ago, if someone had told me a baby would be growing in my body, and that I would be excited about it, I would have laughed and probably helped the person get checked into a mental asylum.
Yet, here I am.
Pregnant. Imagine the stir this would cause back on Earth. Earth… Am I ever going to return?
Do I even want to?
I'm mid-swing when I feel her presence.
