Mated to Morpheus

MTM.46

do you hear that?

The sum of life is not a singular object of entirety—rather, it is an existence that is forever changing.

There are several features of life that can be deemed both unfair and fair, controllable and uncontrollable, but also objective and partial. There can be choices, perhaps millions of them, but they are often merely byproducts or aftereffects. These choices can quickly result in repercussions that stem from a single situation, and create several outcomes.

The action.

The death of a mother, a teacher, and a wife alike. Though it is understandable, adults—especially guardians—will often try to keep the deceased in the hearts of children, but rarely ever in their developing minds. The dead will not come back. The living will be forced to move on. And, the truth will be saved for a later date. The scent of vanilla, sweet yet sickening, will perhaps always linger near the tip of a wiggling nose. Unfortunately, the irresistible texture of citric acid and the taste of something sour will never fade the memory of biting into a stale cake.

The consequence.

The hidden resentment for a grieving father. There are powerful emotions that can materialize, merge, and divide from prominent pits of overbearing feelings. Sadness. Anger. Guilt. The poorly done invitations that were designed to invite other children to the numerous past parties have long stained the young fingers of the innocent with the invisible stench of cruel alcohol. The tremble of little hands barely managed to mask the smell with expired perfumes.

The aftermath.

The inability to accept the good that comes. There is only so much that a small child can do—however, they will stretch out their short arms until their biceps start to ache with a burning pain. The attention that they naturally crave will be shushed for the very last time, and they will no longer reach towards those they once did. And, when someone new introduces themselves with an oddly soft touch, the now-grown child will only know how to reject them.

These secrets are kept locked by even the unlikely.

And, levels of confusion will rapidly multiply to surround them. The slow destruction of a man's morals. The assumed betrayal of a sister. The influence of memories. The dominance of a bond. The earth continues to spin, society continues to change, and confusion continues to be an excuse.

Who is truly in control?

My meddling thoughts were interrupted as a slightly chipped teacup was placed in front of me by a thin hand. The prolonged evidence of a ring must have scarred the fourth finger of their left mitt, leaving a lasting impression. The pale, meerkat face of Vakerie became the most prominent view as my eyes trailed up the path of her covered arm.

"This is chamomile tea, simple yet effective at easing the wandering mind, and it has been sweetened with an appropriate amount of honey."

Vakerie watched with a subtle look of delight as I reached forward to grip the handle, conscious for the waves of heat that wafted off the sloshing liquid. The past couple of days were filled with benevolent moments shared with Vakerie—which mostly consisted of her making a full pot of alleviating tea and us enjoying it by the batches. Through sips, we would gladly converse.

"Thank you, Vakerie." The rough patch of my neck prickled as I gently glided the back of my fingers over my nearly restored wound, basking in the success of reaching the maturation phase of healing. "I really appreciate this."