Raindrops. They remind me of your tiny footsteps. How you splashed and plopped and then tiptoed back into the house. Trying not to bring the mud and rain inside with you. Your muddy shoes still sit by the front door. I know I should wash them or get rid of them, but I can’t. They’re all that’s left.
Sometimes I wonder if you remember the rain dances we use to have. Twirling, with your head turned upwards. Eyes closed. Rain falling upon your little face. We’d dance for hours if you didn’t start to shiver from the cold.
Sitting here, alone, by the fire I can feel you wiggling in the blanket. Trying to rub the cold from your bones. I wonder if you still wiggle out the cold or do you no longer dance in the rain?
“Fuck! Get a grip on yourself! It was for the best.” Not that I listen to myself. But still, I need to move forward.
But it’s hard.
I know I did the right thing. Letting you go. I was toxic. Poison. I would have consumed your brilliant light. You needed to be free—to fly. I was a cage trapping you from within.
I wish you could know my harshness in pushing you away was from my love for you and not from hatred, but I fear showing any type of love would bring you back.
Back into my cage and I can’t bear to see you caged. I would rather watch you fly from afar than brush your soft cheeks that sleep quietly upon my chest.
All that is left are my memories. They haunt and tease me about all I could have had if I weren’t so malignant. If my mind was normal. If I didn’t have a faulty brain.
Unfortunately, there’s no return line for faulty brains. Can you imagine if there were? I can think of quite a few people who should be first in line.
***
Love is a very simple thing when it’s real love. It doesn’t tangle or consume. But it is painful. Because real love requires sacrifice. Sacrificing that which you love so your love can have more is the hardest and loneliest thing one can do because no one but you is able to see it.
In the eyes that spy beside you, they see a selfish monster. Vulgar and savage. Their eyes are blind to the gentle spider’s web woven intricately within. They’ll never know and neither will your love.
Inspired by prompt at Write on Edge for Write at the Merge week 5
Haunting imagery. Well crafted.
Thanks:)
This is heartbreaking. I’m reading it as a mother giving up her child and that would be the most horrific event to contemplate
Yes it is. And you’re absolutely spot on about what it’s about. A mother remembering her child she lost.
Very well done. Your imagery is captivating and heartbreaking.
Thank you
I like the forlorn feel to this. Great job!
This is absolutely haunting. Your imagery, contrasting the cold rain and the warm fire, all wrapped around the pain of loss is heartbreaking. It struck me especially tonight, as we had a rainy day today and played outside in it.
~Angela
Oh, this one hurts my heart. So beautiful and delicate and raw and perfect. Thank you.
How tragic. The images of the child are so sweet, it makes the whole situation so much sadder, and the parent’s self-blame is painful. Well done.
This was beautifully, painfully written. Because you’re right. True love, real love, can require sacrifice. And a mother’s love is the truest love there is.
I can’t imagine it, the pain of giving your child up because it’s the right and necessary thing. My heart shies away from it, like a bruise you know will hurt to press on.
The image of the muddy boots by the door is devastating.