Nov 1, 2015

She


She doesn’t care for pink anymore, and after many months of fierce manipulation she made me buy her a black leather jacket for school!

She likes to keep her bedroom door shut nowadays, and I can see it, I can see the girl and the woman battling, fighting for survival, sometimes the girl’s voice comes through: “I love you mummy!” “You’re the best mummy in the world”, sometimes the woman wins, and I see her in a begrudging look, an intentional deafness. I know it is inevitable, I know the girl will slowly vanish and the woman will eventually take over and I know there will be storms, long and tiresome, but I am not ready to let go, I am not ready to stop brooding over her, it is too soon. 
She is sticking washable tattoos on her arms while I open her baby box where I kept her tiny shoes, her tiny mittens, her tiny little dresses when I used to decide what she wears, when she was still mine and I will never quite grasp how fast the space between her head and her feet grew.
In this unpredictable ocean called life I am always sailing towards her and she always sailing to something new, how can I tell her that all those glimmering shining islands she sees from afar are nothing but mirages, nothing but sand and stone.
I want to give her things that never age, things that never lose their sparkle, things that are never lost or broken, things that she can’t outgrow, but I have nothing but my mad irrational love… she squirming in it, wanting out.. soon she will want to fly from me and all I will have left is a hope, a little hope that she might come back and tell me what it was like to be without me.