03-09-2018, 03:09 PM
I can’t recall the last time I was in Nerine. I wouldn’t say I avoided it, however it brought grief upon me. They reminded me of her, all of them. They were her people and though I know they would be more than welcoming to me, I cannot bear it. I feel her absence in everything, in my loneliness more than anything.
Perhaps I am carried away with my mourning, but a child missing her mother is understandable. I know I have let myself get ruined by her death, in my weakness I have let it become what I am good at. Let it be known that I am proud of being good at something for once. It is my newfound talent.
In the morning when I wake up, I mourn.
Throughout the day I find every excuse to relate it to my mother, I let everything remind me of her and welcome the pain.
My final thoughts before I rest are often that I miss her, it overwhelms me and I close my eyes so I may continue my routine in the morning.
Some would say it is not a proper way to live and I am doing only harm to myself. Let me deteriorate, for I cannot find anyone who will accept me as my mother had. It is sad, yes. Pathetic even, but it is weak like I am.
It’s evening as I find my way into Nerine. As I stroll through it I feel miserable, knowing that if things were different- if she had not died that she would be here. In the dim light I lower my head so it brushes the grass as I walk. I’m too sad to eat, my hunger is satisfied by the depression in itself.
For a moment I think I catch her scent in the air, but I dismiss it as my nostalgia. Then I see her and I know I am delusional. I have become so involved in myself and my grief that I conjured her up in my mind. It must be so. But I cannot resist going to her- imagination or not.
My slow and pitiful stroll turns into a full on run, I call out to her desperately. ”Mother? Mother! Is that you?”
As I near it seems my imaginary version of Scorch is so realistic, I stop myself in my tracks. Her scent is too strong, her body too real. It is not just my mind playing tricks on me, it is her in the flesh.
Tears fall from my eyes without end, I cannot believe it. So long I’ve wished to see her and now she is here. And I can’t understand it. How she came back from the dead, is she still the same as she used to be or is she changed? I ramble aloud uncontrolably, my nerves on edge. ”I don’t understand, how can it be? But.. You were dead… And now you are here standing before me in the flesh..” I move closer to her to nuzzle up against her side, how I have missed her dearly. ”Oh, please tell me you are you and not a zombie or illusion. I missed you.”
But the little voice in my head speaks to me admits my joy, calling me back to the dark sadness I’ve lived in for too long. Why didn’t she seek me out, how could she let me be in the dark for so long? I silence it for now, letting myself rejoice in my mothers presence. Perhaps later I may be courageous enough to ask what I fear.
Perhaps I am carried away with my mourning, but a child missing her mother is understandable. I know I have let myself get ruined by her death, in my weakness I have let it become what I am good at. Let it be known that I am proud of being good at something for once. It is my newfound talent.
In the morning when I wake up, I mourn.
Throughout the day I find every excuse to relate it to my mother, I let everything remind me of her and welcome the pain.
My final thoughts before I rest are often that I miss her, it overwhelms me and I close my eyes so I may continue my routine in the morning.
Some would say it is not a proper way to live and I am doing only harm to myself. Let me deteriorate, for I cannot find anyone who will accept me as my mother had. It is sad, yes. Pathetic even, but it is weak like I am.
It’s evening as I find my way into Nerine. As I stroll through it I feel miserable, knowing that if things were different- if she had not died that she would be here. In the dim light I lower my head so it brushes the grass as I walk. I’m too sad to eat, my hunger is satisfied by the depression in itself.
For a moment I think I catch her scent in the air, but I dismiss it as my nostalgia. Then I see her and I know I am delusional. I have become so involved in myself and my grief that I conjured her up in my mind. It must be so. But I cannot resist going to her- imagination or not.
My slow and pitiful stroll turns into a full on run, I call out to her desperately. ”Mother? Mother! Is that you?”
As I near it seems my imaginary version of Scorch is so realistic, I stop myself in my tracks. Her scent is too strong, her body too real. It is not just my mind playing tricks on me, it is her in the flesh.
Tears fall from my eyes without end, I cannot believe it. So long I’ve wished to see her and now she is here. And I can’t understand it. How she came back from the dead, is she still the same as she used to be or is she changed? I ramble aloud uncontrolably, my nerves on edge. ”I don’t understand, how can it be? But.. You were dead… And now you are here standing before me in the flesh..” I move closer to her to nuzzle up against her side, how I have missed her dearly. ”Oh, please tell me you are you and not a zombie or illusion. I missed you.”
But the little voice in my head speaks to me admits my joy, calling me back to the dark sadness I’ve lived in for too long. Why didn’t she seek me out, how could she let me be in the dark for so long? I silence it for now, letting myself rejoice in my mothers presence. Perhaps later I may be courageous enough to ask what I fear.