The wrinkles of the people we love

I didn’t notice time passing; every time I came home, even after just two weeks, I’d count one more wrinkle on your face — I knew every day etched into your skin. Your skin has grown darker; I no longer know how I feel about you. I no longer know what I think, I no longer know what I feel; every day I feel time pulling me away from the memory of a young face. The longing for a better life has aged you, but it’s strange how other people influence your sense of belonging to life. I know you’ve suffered, you felt trapped, you couldn’t open yourself up to life, stuck in a life that grabbed your legs, keeping you anchored to the ground. Do you feel how heavy your legs are? Why did you do that to me too? Why did you keep me anchored to the ground my whole life? Mom, maybe you never loved me, or maybe you just loved yourself more than the son you felt inside you from day one. Maybe we’re destined to love ourselves more than the people around us. Maybe we’re just so afraid of life. Mom, I hope you’re no longer afraid to live; I forgive you.

Your sad son