Sunday, December 6, 2009

Sunlight and moonbeams

I am 25. It is the last line before I turn the page and the landscape changes. I have fragments of conversations floating in my head like the soap bubbles; I blow on them, ignoring them, refusing to let them touch me for fear of their becoming thoughts that I will have to read.

What is your mother like? Well, she is like me. And then I thought what my mother is like? Honestly she is nothing like me. I adore her, but like me she is not. I look like her. She hates disagreements. She hates strife in relationships; to her the goal is to get along and love each other. She loves children and animals. She seems to understand them in a way that most people are not able to. She loves making people happy, she makes fun of herself. She loves without judgment. To her it is the intensions that matter the most, not the final effect. And in her world, her intensions are always good. I don’t think I have ever heard her apologize honestly. She is fun, she is a charmer. Her humor is intelligent and sharp without ever being mean. She loves to learn and grow and is never self conscious. Her laughter is like music, she holds you without holding you back. She can say my name in a million ways and has a million different names for me. I can hear her voice and know how she feels. She is the most beautiful woman in the world.