𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | 𝐁𝐋

𝟎𝟎𝟔

a/n; i had a pretty rough day, so comments would really be appreciated — hope you enjoy reading!

—

Your mother told you to write your thoughts down in ink.

She called it journaling, and it was a hobby she wanted you to have. Whether it was the smallest of things that occurred in your day, like the food you ate, to the larger things that happened, like your first spark of mana (your father had insisted for you to start your mana casting early) — your mother told you to write every bit down into a small notebook.

Then when night came, she would ask for permission to read through it, and a soft smile would grace her lips as she thumbed through the pages.

Your mother would hug you, scent warm and reassuring, as her loose hair tickled your ear. "I will protect you as much as I can. I will make sure that your duty does not kill your soul, like how it killed your father's."

At her words, you always wondered about the before. There were always the before and after's — the strangest thing about time was that while you were still in your earlier stages of life, the before — your mother was already living in the after. Both of you were in the present, but for your mother, she had already lived through the transformative years of her life.

Who was she before she had you? Who was your father before you? Were they happier, more carefree? Had your father traced patterns on your mother's swollen belly, eager for you to be born? Because, when you looked at past pictures of the two of them, now hidden and locked in a chest, you could see their glowing faces, happy and excited. And now the vestiges of the past had fizzled away and their relationship had soured.

You wondered what your father had been like before his role had stripped him of his happiness: had he been happy, like you? Brave enough to dream of the future? Or had he always been sullen and bitter? Did his change of personality? worsen his relationship with your mother?

You wondered if one day, this journal would be precious and sacred to you. Perhaps you would laugh at your sloppy handwriting. Perhaps you would have cried at your childhood naivety then, wishing to return to your old days.

There were so many things to think of pertaining to your future. Your journal entries were consistent, and soon, as the days passed by, the pages became increasingly filled. You stuck flowers in between the pages, and that gave it texture, which your mother said was always welcome in a journal. You worked tirelessly at it whenever you were free — and it was surprisingly calming and satisfying.

.

.

Today, the apples were slightly sour. Mommy says it's because they aren't the ripest, and that the supply has been low lately. And as for mangoes, she says, they are a seasonal fruit. They're super expensive now, which is sad, and maybe it's because another season is coming. More time is passing by. How will I latch onto it?