15/06/26 My Mother is a Delicate Flower

I'm grieving for the life my mother is slowly leaving behind. Most of all, I'm grieving for this lifetime where I never got to spend time being by her side and I don't know if I'll ever have that chance to be able to hold her tight while she can still see pieces of my being. 

My mother is a delicate flower. She smells of lavender and spring rain. She's soft as a pillow and as a woman among meadows. Her heart is red; filled with equal parts love & rage. She sounds like a mother deer, a gazelle; meek, subtle but outspoken. I never fully knew who she was.

I wish I had known her from early on. My mother is an enigma. She has the qualms of a fairy godmother, her sparkle, though fading, still shines when it needs to. How my wish has transcended the stars above, yet parts of it were slowly granted.

I am deeply scared of how delicate my mother is. I long for her love at a time like this. I will never know a world without her sparkling in it. I refuse to. I don't know what to do.

Submitted anonymously