as I write to you, I also speak at you in my mind. I release tears of fear, horror and panic as I realize yet again-that I’ll never be able to call you to calm me down from moments like this.
I just truthfully want you mom. I want your hand, your hug, and your touch to surround me and take the suffocation away. I want you to wrap your arms around me and hold me tight, let me cry in your lap like you used to do.
I’m not sure how I can ever be okay with this being the method of communication between us. This is the most literally way I’ve tried to reach you, besides talking to you in my mind and occasionally grinning when I think I smell syrup (idk why, but I swear its you messing with me). This in its entirety sucks.
I’m sitting here being a big ball of insecurities, crying about all the things that “could be” and all the things that aren’t. All the maybes, perhaps and what if’s that could send my life spiraling out of the perfect picture I have created. All of the reactions to my actions, and emotions…Where can you be to save me from this? How can you tell me I’m beautiful and strong and smart and encouraging and kind? How can you tell me I’m worth it, that not everyone leaves with the blink of an eye, flash of a light. How can you tell me when I am doing things right? Who do I call when I have great news, who is going to pretend to be excited to talk to me, because nobody does. How am I suppose to live without you?
I have so many questions for you, I need so much from you. I wasn’t ready for you to go.
if there is any magic in this world, it would be to send me a message and give me peace. I wonder what its like to know I’m worth it, smart, beautiful. I wonder what it’s like.