Sensory Images

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As I hold my newborn niece I feel her soft, untainted skin against my arms. I am sent back to a time of naïve happiness. I bend down to sniff her head, smelling the scent many newborns have along with the soap the hospital used to clean her hours prior. I look back at the baby and feel a sense of Deja vu, from a time that I try to forget. I still remember what my baby's laugh sounded like, the joyous noise bouncing off the tan-colored hospital walls. He was always happy, even though he never left those walls that were filled with his giggles. I begin to taste the bile rising from my throat as I remember when I couldn't feel his breathing anymore against my chest and he is taken away. I hand the healthy baby back to my sister, wish them well, and made my way back to my silent apartment; careful to hide my jealousy from them both. 

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