A rose for my Rose

60. There has been 60 years of your beauty, fragrance and sweetness. 23. I have spent 23 years leaching off of this.

For 60 years you have been on this earth and you’ve dedicated 23 of those to loving me selflessly. I do not know any one else on earth who is willing to give their all to me and not just in a hypothetical situation but I have seen you do it. From watching you, I have learnt the value of generosity and selfless living. I have seen strength, courage and resolve that even at more than 2 decades old, keeps me running back to you in times of trouble. Over the years, you’ve grown from just being my mother, to my cheer leader and my friend; you display your heart so honestly, inviting me to do the same.

Happy birthday to you Mummy. There is not enough money in the world to give you what you deserve but even the things that money can buy, I can not yet afford those that are worthy of a rose so precious. All I have is my heart, my dear mother and a rose, a rose filled with prayers that the Lord grant you 60 more, to see my children's children's children; perfect strength to carry them in your bossom and a Spirit forever mindful of His love. A birthday rose for you, my Rose.

I really did not mean to miss you

It is just one of those days after having one of those nights. A lot of silence around me, which silence causes me to hear the voices within, voices from thought and from memory. I feel like I am doing life wrong.

I erased them, all of them. I deleted that message thread. How sad that 95% of our relationship was erasable. At that point, I felt I needed to do it; not because I could not stand the sight of your name but because I was done aiding my trips down memory lane. I looked for them last night though, none. All I have is what is recent, somewhat cold and laboured conversation. Is it strange that it made me a little bit sad? You know how many songs have that cliche line of "I no longer see myself in your eyes", well, I no longer see me in your words. I kind of wish I had those messages, the ones that prove that it hasn't always been like this; but to what end?

I remember how it was, even without evidence to the fact, I remember how it felt. I did not see it coming. It kind of just happened. There really wasn't much guessing on your part. It was just a wrong time and I was afraid of the things you were saying. You tried to woo me out of my many shells covered with shadows of past events. I tried to convince myself to both run away and give in at the same time. Whatever happened happened. Sometimes I miss you. I miss those days of uncertain sweet emotions and silent smiles. I miss the exchangie of art, which was in a way, our own way of showing our hearts.

I want to tell you I miss you but that seems so inadequate. I miss you. So what? It feels like such a cliche sentence, insincere...after all it is not all the time. It only happens on nights like these, when alone; when it has been a tough day and the silence seems louder than usual. It only happens when I feel I have to make up excuses to send you a message, when I start plucking imaginary rose petals chanting "he'll reply; maybe not", when I get excited to see a message from you and feel my heart sink that yes, I do not see me in your words anymore.

I really did not mean to miss you; I was just having one of those moments. It will pass, like us, it will soon be a thing of the past.