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.
