My mom, she is 4 foot 9.
and yet... She is a mountain.
Her memory fades like the daylight on my ride back home. I had known it would happen, and still, I was caught unaware.
But her smile still awakens me. Warm. Like her hands that have now wrinkled. Sunshine reflected on rippling waves.
Ah, but her tears tell stories that I have read since I was a child. No, they are not bedtime tales... But I know them all by heart.
And one day, I will go... to see the other side of the mountain, of valleys kept beneath its veils. I’d tell myself I was being brave.
But I’m already missing my side of the mountain, even when I still live under its shade. For it is dark and comforting, all at the same time.
It won’t be long though, I think. One day... I, too, will lie down and become a mountain.
And I will look up at the sky to watch the sun smiling down.