I can't explain it, it's like she is me. Or lives in me, I don't know.
All I know is that the older I get, the more I realise that she was a separate being besides being a mother. I analyse my feelings and emotional experiences and imagine her going through more or less the same ones.
Recently I've begun really nitpicking the memories I've always held on to. I observe her personality through her responses and feelings in different situations. This has made me understand how similar we actually were. It's a beautiful, but painful, process that often brings me to tears.
It reassures me that she was real, and that our bond was, too.
I say this because I've always thought about how my older sister got more time with her. I would have loved to have her by my side at this stage of life where I am on an emotional journey. I am naïve, unstable and immature in this department, but most importantly, I am open. Intentionally.
This entire experience has made me admire her as person, objectively though. She was made up of a whole range of soft and hard stuff that creates this complex character that I cannot, much to my frustration, understand. She was a beautiful concoction of adoration, heartache and pandemonium. Yet, I am completely in love with her.
And deep inside I know that I will never get over her. Like a Venn diagram, there is a part of our souls that was one, that we shared. It explains why we could never be apart for long. It explains why I am inevitably imploding and falling apart.
I imagine that, wherever she is, she feels it too. She always cried about how nothing ever went well in her life. Her relationships, education, and health all failed her. She actually believed that she was cursed. It made me so angry at that time. It made me want to lay the world at her feet. But instead I just wiped her tears away and reminded her of her miracle, me. I was one of her only two achievements in life, her children, and she lost that too.
Now all I yearn for is for her to wipe my own incessant tears. This is what our love story is made up of: constant yearning. It physically hurts that we can never be together again. Instead, it's like we continue to smile at each other from opposite sides of a railway line.
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To Hurt
Não FicçãoPain often finds a way of making itself a constant in its bearer. Once it does that, it is all you will ever know. The greatest pain in life is the one that doesn't allow space for anything else. I would know this better than anyone else, for my li...
