A feeling..

Till the day I could touch you, you were a person, the reason why I exist. Your words actually came from your mouth and reached my ears. I could see you smile and frown. Your tears we real, they fell on your lap, where I rested my head. You had a smell, unique to you. Your skin was forming wrinkles, just a little bit. I could run the comb through your hair. I could say something to you and you would respond. Even if I was not physically with you all the time you existed physically somewhere near me. You made food that I savored all my growing years. You taught me tips and tricks. You uttered words that helped me change course. It was all there. It was all real.

Now… You are a feeling!

I have to imagine your face to remember the wrinkles. I close my eyes and try to catch your smell, and I don’t get it. Your hands, I have to press hard on my grey matter to remember the feel. Your lap.. your hair.. your smile.. there are no tears I can see. I see no pain which is a good thing. I can talk endlessly, I know you are listening, but I don’t hear a response. I know for a fact that you are watching me, but there is no guidance for course correction. I am unsure of so many things in my life, and you are not there to assure me. Weren’t you supposed to be around. Did you know that our time would end right when it did? And how is it fair? I did not know and I did not sign up for it.

So in a way you cheated.

I don’t like being part of conversations where others talk about the living breathing versions of you. They casually talk about how they got a piece of advice or how they are not demanding or how they got a call the last evening or how they told them what to do and so on. I hate it. Why don’t I have you around me? I try to feel you, when I hug a friend’s mother. I hold on for a minute longer to see if I can feel you. In the salon when the stylist washes my hair, she massages my scalp, maybe like you did? When friends talk to me about their everyday conversations like normal, every time a sharp knife passes through me. I don’t have anything to say, why not? I don’t like saying ‘my mom used to’.. because now you are a feeling..

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