This isn't my picture but it's my default background for every new tab I open in chrome. The colors are beautiful, and whales just leave me in awe.
INTERlude
Dear Leonor,
Have I lost you?
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As I step away from what I've written–as I sit down about to write to you–I shutter internally. Writing to you is as easy as it’s hard. Could you have imagined us here, on this day in November, brisk yet filled with warmth down to the hem that reaches just above my toes. I am taking my sweatshirt off just as I put it on. What is with this push and pull? It kind of mimics how I feel about you.
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Mom, you are the ocean. You are vast and beautiful, but you are also terrifying and deadly. There are shades of blue that can show all these qualities, and I only wish I could’ve seen them on you.
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Can I let you take me? Should I lay at your shore, mercilessly at the will of your pull? Should I allow myself to be tussled under the weight of your waves and by the rhythm you permeate? I am battered and beaten against your waves, but they are all you, it’s a salty sting that tastes of you. You linger on my skin, the skin you made, not by your design, but by your will.
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How I desire for you to be serene. For you to be billowing and lapping gently. I can’t stand that you are in pain. These waters weep for you, and their tears kiss my feet. You think your children, your family, and all that you love is lost, and replaced. But all that is lost is you mom, within the vastness and depths within you.
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Fluidity. What a concept. I think of this word and I think of physics. Laws and rules are abided. There is fluid in concrete, it starts that way to be fair, then hardens, permanent. Can I mold you back to who you once were? The brain is plastic, they say.
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Can I find you?
Can I find you?
Can I find you?
Mom, sometimes I can’t swim in your waters. Forgive me, I must take a break and rest. I’ll see you soon.
I am my mother's lost daughter...
but I am looking for her.