SHE IS A FRAGMENT OF THE PAST
A/ N: I wrote this ages ago, inspired by Cardcaptor Sakura, this is actually what I think that Sakura thought when she saw her mother.
I stood, transfixed. Rooted to the spot.
There she was. My mother!
Could this be a dream? No, it couldn't be for I could feel the air blowing gently into my face, besides, I didn't want it to be…
She was beautiful, a true vision of charm and grace, her hair flowed a river, they cascaded down to her back in a tide of dun coloured curls, her green eyes glinted with gentleness and joy, her face alight, she held out her arms, beckoning me to embrace her.
"Mum" I say, the words stuck in my throat, I want to say so much to her but I can't, the words are jumbled together in my throat, so hard I can barely let out a squeak for this lump in my windpipe.
Mum. My mother. The one who hugged me when I was down, who sang softly and read to me so I could fall asleep, who stroked my face, her touch cool and gentle, like the lapping of the sea, she had told me that I was beautiful and that I should make myself happy and be brave.
Frequently, when I was younger, when I was sad or missing her, I would go close my eyes and imagine what she would say to me and imagine her hugging me when I was scared. I imagined her bringing light, carrying a shining torch with her and she would always be smiling, which would make me smile [which gave other children the impression that I was insane].
I run to my mother, I felt weightless, I run to her, my arms outstretched, ready to receive her embrace…
But I pass right through her.
No! This can't be happening to me. I clench my teeth, as a wave of reality hits me like a ton of bricks.
She is in the spirit world.
She can't come back.
She can't hold me.
I know all of this! Yet there are tears streaming down my face, it feels strangely good to have such a hot substance on my cold face, I used to taste my tears, wondering why they were so salty.
My mother smiled at me tenderly and vanished.
I just stood there, transfixed and watched her fade away, tears pouring down my face like hard rainfall.
***
I stroke the smooth, icy and storm grey granite tombstone, I stroke the grass underneath, feeling the wet texture of the grass, but in my head, I'm imagining that I'm stroking her face, I hope that she can feel those strokes, I wish to hug her but I can't hug the grass.
In my hands are some willow blooms, I grew them myself, because Mother loved them, I put them on the grass, praying that no one tramples them.
I hope she is in Heaven. Smiling.
I smile at the grass
"I love you, Mum" I whisper.
The wind whistles high above me.