Mama

 

Mama, good morning wherever you are. 

I know the sun forgets to shine on our unforgiven natures, but I make days out of thin air anyway, because I deserve to live and so do you. I know we blend into the darkness of night because we cannot feel our limbs, our bones, our hearts, yet I sit still and believe I exist until I can glimpse my hands again. 

From where I stand, you are terribly afar. Your body roams the house and I hear the echoes from within. I have come to the realization that I've forgotten you. The human I see everyday now is a familiar, permanent guest, whom, somehow, I have more compassion for than you who I'd loved. Strange how love can separate the human from humanity. I can be kinder to you now, at the cost of never having you again. You can be appreciative, and never ever get see me or who I worked hard to become. 

Does our coexisting erase me? No. It does not. I still am, somewhere else. But because it is so, I am peeled apart to two and the part which loves you is not the part which remains beside you. The living thing is terrified by the emptiness in you, by the indifference, by the shame, by the loathing. The living thing does not tolerate your pain or mine. It has had its share of misfortune early on. You sit with a perfectly decent and bland copy, and it will treat you as carefully as possible and not sustain any harm, and it will not have a single trace of myself. 

When I learn to come into the middle near you, because you won't, and you can't, I may let you hurt me one more time for old times' sake, when we enjoyed leaching off of each other because that's all we knew, when it hurt that I was changing and you weren't. When I miss home, and fail to redefine it, which I hope not to, I'll tell you something good and you'll tell me I don't deserve it, and we'll smile and remember why we don't talk. Because I love you a lot and you despise yourself, and so you think I love your misery, and so you twist who I am and that is when I cannot take it anymore. 

Sleep well, Mama, away from me.