Laying eyes on my son erased the pain and closed the wounds on my face and body, it breathed new life into me and assured me that our souls are real, ...nd that our pain however intolerable is fleeting and not in vain. I was afraid to touch him as if he were made out of cotton candy and my fingers could reshape him and turn him into nothing but so much sugar from which he was made. My blood marked his body, proving that he was mine. My flesh, my blood, a new life born of my womb. A new soul to. I hadn't had a girlfriend inyears, and had no fear of anyone noticing my unusual silky smoothness aslong as I stuck to the sweats that I always wore. I was often amused byhow drab and functional my male wardrobe was compared to the variety ofcute and trendy girls' clothes that I greedily hoarded. Similar to mybody hair situation, I had grown accustomed to painting my toenailsbecause, frankly, nobody else was going to see them.Currently they were a playful pastel pink, a distinctly feminine. More

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