Stories
Winter
She sits there unbearably calm with sharp eyes and a motionless mouth. And I wonder how she can be so cold when all I ever wanted from her was warmth. Nothing like a mothers daily hugs, a mother daily kiss or a mothers kind words. But we don't get the usual affection, on the other hand we get the yells and hurtful words that leave mental bruises. Is it so hard to ask you for summer and not winter? For me to ask you for summer and not winter. I ask for summer, but even the illusion doesn't last since it feels like winter. My mother is a cold woman and I know what you could be thinking, I don't understand her, I don't get it, when I grow up I will. I won't understand her. Inside I feel resentment from all these years and I pray for my soul. I pray that this resentment will not consume me entirely. Even if I don't and wont understand her, I don't want to resent her. She is part of me and she is part of who I have become and part of that has to find some comfort. Theres this fight inside of me that rages on and on, I don't know how long it will last or who will. Because my mother is winter.