It hurts like a bitch

I’m having a night. It’s been a while. Idk if it’s because Sunday was 7 months, because I’m frustrated that we’re still waiting for charges to be filed on that asswipe, if it’s because we’re moving and leaving the house where my baby boy was only hours before he was taken, or if it’s just because grief is an asshole that comes in horrible waves. But I’m sitting here missing the fuck out of my baby. When the waves come, I feel the stab in my heart again. It hurts like a bitch. It’s hard to breathe. I want him here. I want his giant ass to come sit next to me and put his head on my shoulder like he did only days before that night. I want to hug him and make fun of how bad he stinks. I want to make fun of his hair sticking up as he walks into the kitchen with sleepy eyes after waking up. I want to get annoyed at loud music. I want to hear him laughing at TikToks while in the bathroom as I roll my eyes about how he can’t just shit and get out. I want to hear that contagious laugh. I want to see those beautiful eyes and dimples. I want to be bored out of my mind as he drones on and on and on about whatever is on his mind at that moment. I want to see the sparkle in his eyes as he talks about Rory, or riding, or his plans for the future. I want to hear him tell Carter “I love you, bud”.
I don’t want a box of ashes.
I want my baby back.