(no subject)
I remember when I was 8 or 9, my stepmother (at the time) took me downtown to watch a big event kick off one year. We were standing on the street below some building's fire escape. At one point I looked up and swore I saw my mom up a few fire escape landings. I asked my SM if it was her and she said it wasn't and told me to focus. I just kept staring. Keep in mind I didn't see my mom much at this point, so I wasn't really sure, and I never saw the woman's face. I just watched her boots and the color of her hair and the cigarette smoke as she moved around watching the event. I didn't have the nerve to shout out to her, I was afraid SM would do something.
When I next talked to my mom, I asked about it. It was her. Painful.
I certainly did not see her often enough, and to miss a moment, however brief, was wretching. She was my safe place, my peace. Considering the instability of our relationship, of her, pretty ironic.
There were a other times, not quite like this, but where we missed each other.
When I next talked to my mom, I asked about it. It was her. Painful.
I certainly did not see her often enough, and to miss a moment, however brief, was wretching. She was my safe place, my peace. Considering the instability of our relationship, of her, pretty ironic.
There were a other times, not quite like this, but where we missed each other.