Your Forgotten

• v •

11:59
Thursday, 25th of May 2017.

✺

To the woman who birthed me,

Today you finally asked me the questions I dream about.

You finally asked me what was wrong.

You came home a bit early than normal, and as usual, went straight to your room. I was in my room wondering what you were doing, wondering how you would react if I knocked on your door.

Then my phone rang and you asked me to come to your room, a million variety of emotions coursed through my veins after I put down my phone.

What did you want to talk about?

Did something bad happen?

Are you and dad finally having a divorce?

Three uncertain knocks on your door and you told me to come in. Two empty bottles of beer on your bedside table as usual, your slender body sitting on that large bed covered in blue sheets and in that dim light you looked ten years older.

What's happening to you ma?

You told me to sit down next to you on the bed and I did, your chestnut brown pupils examining every inch of my face and I couldn't decipher what you were thinking.

I thought it was about my weight or maybe my slippery grades and I mentally prepared myself to block your words. Fixing my eyes on the bottles, I waited for your next words.

"Mola, my dear, what's going on with you?" Your soft spoken words made my heart melt like butter that very second.

I turned to look at you and the concern on your face brought tears to my eyes and a deep heaviness to my chest.

I'd waited for this for years but that moment you asked, I was speechless.

My heart felt heavy with guilt, I brought shame to you by what I did in school. I'd been pushing it aside but seeing your softened eyes, I felt remorse.

"Mola answer me, what's wrong with you?" your voice grew sharper, instantly reminding me you had two bottles already.

I still stayed quiet and you held my shoulder, forcing me to look at you. "Why did you beat that girl in school?"

My heart beat faster with every octave your voice jumped.

"Answer me Mola!" You shook my shoulders and my tears finally fell.

"You have dragged my name through mud, what did I do to deserve this from you?!" Your shrill voice was ringing my ears.

"Tell me!"

"Because you don't love me anymore!" I shouted back at you and immediately regretted it.

The sound of your hand meeting my face resounded through the room walls.

I held my cheek and stared at you, holding back any tears. Your eyes were wide, but they weren't soft anymore or glazed with worry.

It's painful for someone to take your heart and forcefully throw it on the floor.

But when they grind the remaining shards to smaller pieces, the hurt is inexplicable.

Your Forgotten,
Mola.