As I curl up in a hot bath and stroke my own hair, I am met with the cruel, hard truth that the comfort I seek is unattainable. The comfort I seek is that of a mothers. A mothers touch. A mothers embrace. A mothers voice, and as I press my head to her chest, it vibrates and hums in my ear. I dont mean to sound so melancholy. This sadness is not without cause. It's years in the making. A paper trail that always leads back to my mother, and yes, I feel guilty for that. Believe me, I do. If I could release her and me, would I? I'd like to think so.
Forgive me, as I'm only just now realizing how much hurt she caused and how much I let her. Let me rewind. The comfort I seek is one I should've gotten a long time ago. And yes, it's hard to let go of what should've been and focus on what is. But, isn't that what this realization is? My brain finally caught up to what is. What never will be. "Give me a second to grieve. Ever since I left, it's been, "Oh God, this happened, didn't it? But am I sure? Maybe im remembering it wrong." Please just give me a break." I yell at life or maybe at my brain. Either way, I'm met with silence and an endless longing for what could've been, and never was.
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Paracosm
Poetry{PAR-uh-kahz-um} (n.) A detailed imaginary world created in the mind, often as a means of escape or solace, filled with its own people, places, and stories. | this book is quite the contrast. I shared my thoughts a really long time ago. I'll start...
