Part 7

Part 7

She was young. Not even 50 yet. Maybe not even 40. She had crazy long blonde hair that fell to her waist. Her eyes were blue and warm. Her glasses were all different forms of funky, the lenses ranged from pink to purple. And she had a smile that warmed your heart. And I didn’t know her for long. But she is part of the reason, I am the way I am. This woman, I know she’s important to me. But her face and even her voice evade me. There are things that when I was little, I refused to understand. And even now, I cling to the allusion that everything will be alright and avoid the big questions of life. Because I am happier pretending that it is all going to be okay. That I didn’t lose this woman to cancer, that I don’t remember anything at all. And that the truth of everything I knew was sugar coated and told with childcare gloves on. When I was little, everything was picture perfect. To protect me, my parents shielded me. But I find that because of that, I often lack empathy. That I lack understanding. My parents who didn’t want me to grow old too fast, aided me in never growing at all. Which is probably why I hold onto treetops. I hold onto this magical place where everything was perfect and magic existed. Because now, it doesn’t exist. It can’t exist. And sometimes I wonder if it ever did.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *