You live in a box in my drawer. We decided to cremate you because I wanted you to be with me. I was your one and only home. I didn't want to to be alone, to be thrown away in the garbage like you were nothing.

I've never looked inside. I've held you and cried. I've gently touched the edges of the box in which you reside. But I haven't opened it yet.

Holding that box makes me cry. Makes me cry those toddler tears. The ones that take over your entire body. The shaking sobs. But I can't look inside.

So for now, my sweet child, stay with me.

The only home you have ever known.