"Are You Talking To Me?!?"
Banner made by @Eonaria Kabukimono
Interacting with @Aiden Sinclair
I was going crazy. It was barely 2 weeks after the new of my mother's death, and the waiting period to go back home was killing me. I didn't want to go to her funeral.
I didn't want to be reminded of her. At all.
Like seriously, I was considering burning all the pictures that I had of her.
I didn't want a single reminder of her, of the fact that she wasn't there anymore.
I didn't miss her.
I missed the idea of what a mother is supposed to be.
A other was supposed to be someone warm, loving. Someone to who you could tell all your fears to, your worries.
Your hopes and dreams.
Your nightmares.
A mother was supposed to walk you through life, pointing out the path that they thought you should take, but didn't push you to take it.
Instead, when you came broken and world-weary from trying to forge your own path, they were there with bruise paste and a listening ear.
But she wasn't that. She was cold, hard. Not cruel, but unloving. Uncaring.
She hated my choices, who I wanted to be.
And I hated her for wanting someone else.
She wanted a little princess. Someone who was her replica.
But I was like my father. And she hated that.
My parents never loved each other. It was a marriage of convenience.
My father wanted an heir.
She wanted a rich man.
It worked out for them in the end.
But not for her.
Never for her.
I slid down a wall and placed my headphones on. I pulled my knees to my chest and sat there.
Before long though, my peace was disturbed.
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Dance poor people, dance and drown, dance fair Paris to the Ground. Dance poor people, dance and drown, dance fair Paris, ashes now.
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