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If it was not me then who else would've gone out l

If it was not me then who else would've gone out looking for you, mother? If it was not me then who else would've gone out looking for you, mother? I wish I can talk to my mother like my friends do or the one I watch in movies, their mother hold their hands if not them. Assuring them that it's time and it didn't even wait for her so it will go only, like her experiences giving her in return what they could have at that time when hourglass was in her hand. I dreaded my homecoming for she might be waiting for me this time, to talk to her but I left my words along my way. She will ask for my words and I will give her my pity, for I deserve that in return and she reflects me. I carry sand in me hand to freeze the time, which was never mine like my dreams. Maybe this time, she will understand me, so I started writing her letters. Although she always misunderstood my words and changed my sentences and told me to say this instead that. It always confused me, and I complained, Why mother no one treats sun as a star? It only ends up burning you, if you try to touch either of them. She didn't react and I waited, for she will correct me again. I waited for her to open her mouth and I cupped my hands together below her lips like crafting a potter's art. I burnt my palms and the sky roared, my veins slowed down. I saw the fumes, the river near forest turning red, distantly. There lived a butcher, who cut trees from trunk leaving them dying, half way, and I felt their pain.
If it was not me then who else would've gone out looking for you, mother? If it was not me then who else would've gone out looking for you, mother? I wish I can talk to my mother like my friends do or the one I watch in movies, their mother hold their hands if not them. Assuring them that it's time and it didn't even wait for her so it will go only, like her experiences giving her in return what they could have at that time when hourglass was in her hand. I dreaded my homecoming for she might be waiting for me this time, to talk to her but I left my words along my way. She will ask for my words and I will give her my pity, for I deserve that in return and she reflects me. I carry sand in me hand to freeze the time, which was never mine like my dreams. Maybe this time, she will understand me, so I started writing her letters. Although she always misunderstood my words and changed my sentences and told me to say this instead that. It always confused me, and I complained, Why mother no one treats sun as a star? It only ends up burning you, if you try to touch either of them. She didn't react and I waited, for she will correct me again. I waited for her to open her mouth and I cupped my hands together below her lips like crafting a potter's art. I burnt my palms and the sky roared, my veins slowed down. I saw the fumes, the river near forest turning red, distantly. There lived a butcher, who cut trees from trunk leaving them dying, half way, and I felt their pain.
meeraali9245

Meera Ali

New Creator

If it was not me then who else would've gone out looking for you, mother? I wish I can talk to my mother like my friends do or the one I watch in movies, their mother hold their hands if not them. Assuring them that it's time and it didn't even wait for her so it will go only, like her experiences giving her in return what they could have at that time when hourglass was in her hand. I dreaded my homecoming for she might be waiting for me this time, to talk to her but I left my words along my way. She will ask for my words and I will give her my pity, for I deserve that in return and she reflects me. I carry sand in me hand to freeze the time, which was never mine like my dreams. Maybe this time, she will understand me, so I started writing her letters. Although she always misunderstood my words and changed my sentences and told me to say this instead that. It always confused me, and I complained, Why mother no one treats sun as a star? It only ends up burning you, if you try to touch either of them. She didn't react and I waited, for she will correct me again. I waited for her to open her mouth and I cupped my hands together below her lips like crafting a potter's art. I burnt my palms and the sky roared, my veins slowed down. I saw the fumes, the river near forest turning red, distantly. There lived a butcher, who cut trees from trunk leaving them dying, half way, and I felt their pain.