Cherry Wine

e i g h t

Sometimes I wonder if this was how my story was meant to be all my life.

My mother and I were similar in more ways than I liked to admit. We both fell in love with men who weren't supposed to be loved.

In my most wretched days, I think of my father. If I closed my eyes tight enough to see white spots dancing in the darkness, I remember. I remember the days in which I skipped along the road sipping lemonade with no trace of worry. I would tug his hand every once in a while and yell, "Daddy! Daddy look!"

Thinking back on it, I never really know if he loved me. If his smiles meant anything at all. I guess it would remain a mystery forever. And I was grateful it would be that way.

But I did remember the hushed whispers in the dead of the night which woke me up. They never yelled, but the loathing which every word carried always made me flinch.

My mother, she taught me a lot of things which I wished I never knew.

Be resilient. Be patient and believe you can mend things which people say are meant to be broken, she would say.

My mother, she was a sad woman. She would often look out of the window and weep softly, and when I asked what was wrong, she'd simply smile and say, "Nothing at all, honey."

And she loved my father. She loved my father with such a blinding passion. And she forgave him, over and over and over again. Because that's what you're supposed to do, right? Forgive and forget, because if you don't, who will? Hold your family together. Sacrifice your happiness. All that matters is love.

She tried. Every day, she would tear herself apart just so she could heal my father. She showered him with so much love, that I would often ponder how she didn't run out of love yet. Maybe at one point, she did. Maybe at one point, she ran all out of love, and all she could give him were her tears and desperate cries saying, "I love you. I love you."  Because that's what love is all about, right?

But it was never enough.

And one day, he left. Mom never said where he went. I never knew if he left her for the love of another, or simply because the world became too much for him. Either way, my mom knew she had failed.

It still puzzles me to this day. Where did she go wrong? She did everything she could. She endured his wrath, his mistakes, and his flaws. She accepted him even when he came home smelling like someone else. She knew that he was ugly, and she told him that it's okay and that she wasn't perfect, too.  And oh, how she loved him. She kissed him and said such sweet things that made my tooth ache.

What did she miss? Every book, every movie, every lovesick human, everyone told her that love hurts. Love hurts and takes and makes you bleed but you have to endure it because that's what makes it beautiful. And you have to heal what's broken with love from the bottom of your heart and that love is the best medicine to ever exist. My mother did all that, then where did she go wrong?

My mother and I, we were a lot similar than I would like to admit. We both loved men who shouldn't be loved. But as they say, that's the sweet misery everyone has to go through for love. Without someone to hold you through the night, we are nothing.

But it doesn't matter even if their embrace is suffocating you slowly, does it?

As I gaze at Noah, I chant the only thing which is holding me down.

I will be patient. I will be resilient. And I will mend things which are better left broken.
***
"You're staying with your boyfriend? Till when?" A pause. "Well, when can I meet him?"

A sharp shake of head, silent disapproval. I cast my eyes downwards.

"Not now, mom. Things are pretty hectic now. Maybe later." I couldn't get a single word out without slurring. When did it get so hard to simply speak? "I'll be staying here sometime after finals get over. Got some things to take care of."