I still hear your voice in the background
in birthday videos,
calling me through laughter,
while I ran, unaware
that those moments would last forever.
My mother,
I carry with me the touch of your hands
healing scraped knees,
as if the whole world could fit
in the calm of your care.
There is a sweet longing,
awakened by the smell of coffee,
in the memory of your laughter
filling the house with endless mornings.
Life has shown me
that growing up also means distance,
but your love remains stitched into me,
as if every gesture of mine
were an inheritance of your embrace.
My mother,
the longing I feel
is also gratitude
for sleepless nights,
for simple parties that became grand
because you were there,
looking at me
as if the entire world
was me.
And if today I walk alone,
it is because I first learned to walk
while holding your hand.
Growing up, after all,
is losing a little of the lap
that never ceases to exist.
Aug 27, 2025
Aug 27, 2025 at 9:07 AM UTC
I still hear your voice in the background
in birthday videos,
calling me through laughter,
while I ran, unaware
that those moments would last forever.
My mother,
I carry with me the touch of your hands
healing scraped knees,
as if the whole world could fit
in the calm of your care.
There is a sweet longing,
awakened by the smell of coffee,
in the memory of your laughter
filling the house with endless mornings.
Life has shown me
that growing up also means distance,
but your love remains stitched into me,
as if every gesture of mine
were an inheritance of your embrace.
My mother,
the longing I feel
is also gratitude
for sleepless nights,
for simple parties that became grand
because you were there,
looking at me
as if the entire world
was me.
And if today I walk alone,
it is because I first learned to walk
while holding your hand.
Growing up, after all,
is losing a little of the lap
that never ceases to exist.