She is not one to say it often. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe she doesn’t know how, never learned how. Maybe she’s just not good at it.
My mom has been on her own, for the most part since she was thirteen. Her mom died one morning as she was readying her daughters for school.
I’m thinking since then, she has had issues with god / creator for letting such a catastrope befall her and her younger sister.
Some things trickle down, whether it was meant to or not.
I am no good at love. Most times leave me feeling like a lunatic, if not acting like one.
But, I keep an open heart. Even so, “I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.” I guess in a cock-eyed sorta of way, I believe in love.
Over at dVerse Poets Pub the prompt is to write prose (keeping it tight at no more than 144 words) and to include the line below:-
“I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.”
It has been a strange eight days mired in joy, anxiety, stress and sadness.
Two home-goings, one way before his time. An ambitious young man, twenty two years old, on a new journey to law school. Now, a journey diverted, a soul called home. Leaving a mother grief stricken and numb.
The other, of her time. She had lived some life.
In between these, was a wedding in a most peaceful setting in the mountains. This odd mix of joy and sorrow came in threes.