ever so often i catch myself wondering about what kind of a girl my mother must’ve been? i have seen the corpses of her dreams. they are in buried in her weary eyes, underneath the feigned tranquility. i’m sure before they were smothered under the weight of her responsibilities, they must’ve been glittery and vivid. she must’ve devised plans to seize those opportunities.
when i see her pictures from decades ago, they still speak to me. they are in awe of my beauty that resembles her so significantly. yet, they never ask me any questions about her desires & fantasies. because i think she had already predicted it. and it breaks my heart the same, how even today, she tries so diligently to veil her suffering.
“ grief is all the times their name comes up randomly amidst conversations, and a painstaking smile treads its way into your lips. grief is the shake of your head while you say to yourself - what a blessing it has been to know you.
grief is the soft dentures under your eyes since the day they’ve left , the lines almost blending in pale light.
grief is the way your eyes light up when someone mentions them. the way you still remember the warm embrace of their arms. the way you close your eyes and see their face, as real as ever.
the way you have to stop yourself from taking one more cup out from the cabinet when making tea. the way your lips form their name on its own when you come back home and you’ve to hold yourself back.
it is the tears that wells in the corner of your eyes and the love hurting in your heart. ”