Entry 4 - a mother’s kiss

Dear Diary,

It’s late. My candle has only half an hour left before it dies.

I can feel the warmth against my hand. It gives me some peace and calms me down. Like a mother’s kiss on the forehead before sleep.

That is how I imagine it would feel. Who am I to know? I never had a goodnight kiss from anyone.

I remember lying in my little bed as a child, counting the spots on the ceiling, wondering where she was. My mother. I still do, in a way. But not out of worry anymore. Just out of sorrow.

It wasn’t because I was born that she left. It was because of me that she stayed as long as she did. It wasn’t my inability to keep her that made her leave. That is what they told me, anyway. At least it comforted me as I grew up, even if growing up was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.

I don’t remember my mother’s face. I was too young when I lost her to others. Maybe I was never really hers to have and to hold. Maybe she was never mine to call home.

Now, sitting here in the last light of this day, I wish I knew the warmth of a mother’s kiss.

Good night,

SS