Fingers of fear grasp me, as I witness the warmth of your tender, loving smile transition into a look of bitter rage. Fear’s unwieldy fingers encompass me whole in their resilient clasp, clenching me securely, leaving me tense
My voice is silent. Reduced to nothing but a mere whisper, poor snippets of inferior gasps escape from my lips. My own voice is insignificant against the sickening allure of your chosen poison. I tread warily, like a hesitant soldier stepping with caution through a vast and open minefield. My heart fluctuates from its steady rhythm, as I wait in anticipation of fear. I patiently wait for the next explosion of emotions to erupt from your lips. Tick… Tick… Tick… Be sure to taste your words before you spit them out. Words hurt and evict the smile off my innocent juvenile face. The sound of laughter exists as a faint defeated memory, as I realise that this is a competition I will not win.
No matter the strength of our love shared, nor the amount of precious time spent in each other’s embrace; nothing could compare to alcohol’s hypnotizing enticement.
Your gentle smile had worked wonders on resolving my sadness, soothing the heartache and strengthening our bond. Wrinkles would form the familiar vast valleys and ravines that my fingertips would gently trace with fond, careful strokes of wild admiration. I cherished being smothered in your loving embrace and having your long arms wrapped securely around me. Our fingers would entwine and our close intimacy would lead me to lean in closer to feel your chest rise and fall with ease. Rise and fall… Rise and fall… Rise and fall in a rhythm that brought me comfort. The warmth of your gentle hands would carefully caress the rounds of my chubby cheeks, while lies masked as believable promises flowed from your lips. Weak promises had filled my ears. It was the strength of these commitments that deceived me to believe that it was all true. A bee compelled to honey, my eyes had gleamed in the false hope of having the devoted mother I knew, stay with me, forevermore.
In memories I see you, Mum. I feel you, Mum. I can hear your laugh, but where are you now? Now. A time where I need you the most. I wait for your return every day. I wait in anticipation. I wait in heart ache. I wait in guilt with no return. I wait while isolated tears pool before me, my heart bleeding for my mother’s touch just one last time. Time is of the essence. This resonates with me deeply as I long to tell you three words that are written easier on paper today, than it was once to tell you. I love you Mum. Please listen to me as I call out to you in my deepest, darkest hours. Hours where my pillow gives no comfort, my eyes see no end and my mind knows no boundaries.
Time heals ‘they’ say. ‘They’ say fresh wounds that hurt eventually close. But who are ‘they’ to say that time can restore the heartache that relentlessly moves with me? The heartache that is continuously shadowing me day in, day out. Close enough for only me to feel, but for others to never see. The wells build up further, nearly bursting at the absence of your motherly touch. The taste of salty tears never grows old.
Time will not bring me back my Mum.
Anonymous