dreaming of goddesses, sunflowers and italian sunshine.
yet, every heaven has a hell under its surface.

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mother, all the things i have to tell you

July 30, 2019

GROUP: Flash Fiction

dear mother,

how are you? i am well. i know you will ask over the phone, and i will tell you the same, but here is a reassurance all the same. the world is so much wider than i thought it under your care. i do not mean to insult all you have done for me, my childhood was nothing but a blessing from you. but when you are gone, what shall i make of myself? this is why i left. father knows this as well.

mother, look at the sky. can you see the stars? those same stars shone above me as i trekked through spanish alleys and rested, not quite at home, in youth hostels. can you see the clouds? perhaps those clouds will be the ones i see tomorrow as i embark on a seaward journey across the indian ocean to a new destination.

are you lonely, mother? i cannot know how painful an empty home is but from what i have learned from my time away from you. the empty rooms in which i sleep are foreign to the comforts you provided me. there is a desk where there should not be. the bed is often the wrong way around. how trivial of me to complain of such things, but i am sure you understand.

aleksei says he misses you. he still does not have a phone, but we crossed paths in a german brewery. how strong he looks now! much different from the boy you raised. you will be most surprised when you see him again. he has a beard now! i'm not quite sure how i feel about it, but he is happy, so i, in return, am happy for him. he says his freedom was the greatest gift you could have given him. you will love him, i am sure.

love, your travelling daughter,
in the end, she couldn't bring herself to send it. it lies untouched in an old dresser in the heart of the french countryside. one day, a young boy shall find it. he cannot read, so he goes to his mother to speak the foreign words aloud to him in a tongue he understands. the mother begins to read, and weeps, for all too soon shall her son leave her too.

parting is such sweet sorrow. such is the curse of motherhood.

but we bear it the best we can.


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  • July 30, 2019 - 6:01am (Now Viewing)

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