Disclaimer: Ezra isn't mine, but this version of his mother is. Don't sue. "Once Upon A December" is Deanna Carter's.
Once Upon A December
I still remember my mother.
I've never told anyone that, because I'm not sure if it's really HER that I'm remembering. In fact, sometimes I don't think it's a memory at all. Sometimes I think that it's just something that my mind fabricated, when I was little and my adoptive parents would scream at each other.
But sometimes...when I'm alone, I swear I can still smell her. She smells like...roses and pine and milk and melting snow, all rolled together with something spicy and sweet that I can't place. Babies learn the scent of their mothers very fast, so it MIGHT be possible that that's what I'm remembering.
And a voice. I remember a voice, singing to me. It was very high, or sweet, but it was beautiful. Soft and whispery, throaty and meant only for me. I can't remember the words, but I can remember the sound. If that's possible.
~Dancing bears
Painted wings
Things I almost remember
And a song someone sings
Once upon a December
I heard Daisy singing one time. I don't think she realized I was there; actually, I'm pretty damn sure she didn't know I was. But I was, and I heard her sing. It was so beautiful--sweet and high and beautiful.
She doesn't sound anything like the woman that I think is my mother. But, for some reason, the words she was singing jarred loose the memory of a face. Maybe it was the song my mother sang to me, maybe it wasn't. But it gave me a mental picture of a woman, some woman that I had never seen before.
~You hold me safe and warm
Horses prance through a silver storm
Figures dancing gracefully
Across my memory
Whoever she is, she danced through my mind like a ballarina, twirling and spinning, and only giving me the barest glimpse of her face. But I clung to the scraps, and collected them, and tied them all together into an image.
It's the only image that I have of my mother, or whoever she is. I don't even KNOW if the woman I'm seeing in my mind is her, but I have to believe that it is.
Because of her face. Or, more accuretely, the expression on her face.
Hurt. Love. Despair. Longing. Grudging acceptance.
The face of a woman that didn't want to give up her child.
~Far away, long ago
Glowing dim as an ember
Things my heart
Used to know
Once upon a December
For the longest time after seeing my mother's face, I couldn't think of anything else. I'd see her everywhere, every time I would look into the face of another woman, I would see her face superimposed over the girl's face. Always with the same hurt expression, tears trickling down her cheeks, and her sapphire blue eyes pained.
I think I have her eyes.
And her hair. The picture in my mind has dark curls batting around her wet cheeks, curling under her chin and streaming past her shoulders.
~Someone holds me safe and warm
Horses prance through a silver storm
Figures dancing gracefully
Across my memory
If I think about it hard enough, I think I remember the way that soft hair felt, batting against my cheek. Like silk and satin, and smelling like some shampoo.
The way that Shelby's hair always does. The very few times that I've been close enough to her to smell her hair, it's always brought the same picture to my mind. The woman's face leaps back into my mind, but this time she's smiling and her eyes are glowing. Long dark hair falls forward, and touches my face, and my hands, and I can still remember the way it felt.
~Far away, long ago
Glowing dim an as ember
Things my heart
Used to know
Things it yearns to remember
I don't know who she is. All I know is that I want her to be real. She doesn't even have to be my mom--she could be my aunt, or just some woman that babysat me, or something. All I need to beleive is that she is real, and not just something my subconcsious mind made up to try and make me feel better.
Because I need to believe that some one loved me as much as she did.
~And a song
Someone sings
Once upon a December
Once Upon A December
I still remember my mother.
I've never told anyone that, because I'm not sure if it's really HER that I'm remembering. In fact, sometimes I don't think it's a memory at all. Sometimes I think that it's just something that my mind fabricated, when I was little and my adoptive parents would scream at each other.
But sometimes...when I'm alone, I swear I can still smell her. She smells like...roses and pine and milk and melting snow, all rolled together with something spicy and sweet that I can't place. Babies learn the scent of their mothers very fast, so it MIGHT be possible that that's what I'm remembering.
And a voice. I remember a voice, singing to me. It was very high, or sweet, but it was beautiful. Soft and whispery, throaty and meant only for me. I can't remember the words, but I can remember the sound. If that's possible.
~Dancing bears
Painted wings
Things I almost remember
And a song someone sings
Once upon a December
I heard Daisy singing one time. I don't think she realized I was there; actually, I'm pretty damn sure she didn't know I was. But I was, and I heard her sing. It was so beautiful--sweet and high and beautiful.
She doesn't sound anything like the woman that I think is my mother. But, for some reason, the words she was singing jarred loose the memory of a face. Maybe it was the song my mother sang to me, maybe it wasn't. But it gave me a mental picture of a woman, some woman that I had never seen before.
~You hold me safe and warm
Horses prance through a silver storm
Figures dancing gracefully
Across my memory
Whoever she is, she danced through my mind like a ballarina, twirling and spinning, and only giving me the barest glimpse of her face. But I clung to the scraps, and collected them, and tied them all together into an image.
It's the only image that I have of my mother, or whoever she is. I don't even KNOW if the woman I'm seeing in my mind is her, but I have to believe that it is.
Because of her face. Or, more accuretely, the expression on her face.
Hurt. Love. Despair. Longing. Grudging acceptance.
The face of a woman that didn't want to give up her child.
~Far away, long ago
Glowing dim as an ember
Things my heart
Used to know
Once upon a December
For the longest time after seeing my mother's face, I couldn't think of anything else. I'd see her everywhere, every time I would look into the face of another woman, I would see her face superimposed over the girl's face. Always with the same hurt expression, tears trickling down her cheeks, and her sapphire blue eyes pained.
I think I have her eyes.
And her hair. The picture in my mind has dark curls batting around her wet cheeks, curling under her chin and streaming past her shoulders.
~Someone holds me safe and warm
Horses prance through a silver storm
Figures dancing gracefully
Across my memory
If I think about it hard enough, I think I remember the way that soft hair felt, batting against my cheek. Like silk and satin, and smelling like some shampoo.
The way that Shelby's hair always does. The very few times that I've been close enough to her to smell her hair, it's always brought the same picture to my mind. The woman's face leaps back into my mind, but this time she's smiling and her eyes are glowing. Long dark hair falls forward, and touches my face, and my hands, and I can still remember the way it felt.
~Far away, long ago
Glowing dim an as ember
Things my heart
Used to know
Things it yearns to remember
I don't know who she is. All I know is that I want her to be real. She doesn't even have to be my mom--she could be my aunt, or just some woman that babysat me, or something. All I need to beleive is that she is real, and not just something my subconcsious mind made up to try and make me feel better.
Because I need to believe that some one loved me as much as she did.
~And a song
Someone sings
Once upon a December