Sweetheart,
Do you find meaning in the colourful blocks you build, and do you, when you break them back? Do you look for meaning? I wish I could learn how to vacate my mind of fears and anxieties and breathe in the beauty of dull moments. Every morning when I straighten the pillow of your head shape, when you are in school, battling books and boredom, I wonder what is the meaning of meaning. Till the shape dissolves and I give up. Of course, there is no meaning in meaning. But who could I ever explain that to? I slowly recline with the cup of tea, intended to refresh, knowing well I do not want to. And I fall asleep again.
This has been my routine since the last one, two years, now? From a time I revived the letters, to now, where it flourishes -- a cheap fake; from bringing you home to now having you out in the world, life has changed so much. As it so demands. You no longer spell 'jiraaf', but it is a part of me, intact in its wrong spelling, the endearing tale on a tattered paper and gold spots all over my soul. You no longer ask 'Where is Daddy?' It feels, as if, starkly, and overnight, you have swallowed all the meanings of life.
As we grow together, I learn more from you than I thought or knew I ever could. Your charming kindness with which you cup my cheeks and ask for a day-off from school, your cold shoulder to messy bus-mates complete with silent, ferocious looks and of course, your rationale in explaining the existence of greed -- why a new school bag and a new water bottle, both, are essential.
I never knew I was capable of such an extent of forgiving and tolerating.
You have made a mother out of me.
Never a moment when I am not all yours,
Momie.
This has been my routine since the last one, two years, now? From a time I revived the letters, to now, where it flourishes -- a cheap fake; from bringing you home to now having you out in the world, life has changed so much. As it so demands. You no longer spell 'jiraaf', but it is a part of me, intact in its wrong spelling, the endearing tale on a tattered paper and gold spots all over my soul. You no longer ask 'Where is Daddy?' It feels, as if, starkly, and overnight, you have swallowed all the meanings of life.
As we grow together, I learn more from you than I thought or knew I ever could. Your charming kindness with which you cup my cheeks and ask for a day-off from school, your cold shoulder to messy bus-mates complete with silent, ferocious looks and of course, your rationale in explaining the existence of greed -- why a new school bag and a new water bottle, both, are essential.
I never knew I was capable of such an extent of forgiving and tolerating.
You have made a mother out of me.
Never a moment when I am not all yours,
Momie.
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