meyzee
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It was when I took off my shoes at the door after months of being away from home that I realized you were no longer the same person I knew.
That night, it rained.
Tired from the trip, I fell asleep almost immediately.
I slept through the night and half of the next day, and when I woke up, I found my shoes still outside the door, soaked from the rain.
I know I should have been responsible for them. But that day, I realized the woman who used to care enough to bring them inside was gone.
The shoes were soaked, but it wasn’t the rain that bothered me. It was the quiet realization that you no longer noticed the small things that once mattered.
Not because you were no longer yourself, but because something else had taken a hold of you. Something heavier, something that slowly replaced the person I used to know.
I love you.
I knew I suck at saying those three words. But despite how much I struggled with the parts of you I didn’t understand in the quiet moments, I hope you knew this: I’ve always longed for you in all your changing versions, just as I was, with all the different versions of me.
Even when I’m far away, I still root for you.
Even though we speak less and less, I hope you know how much I still crave to talk to you.
This coming Mother’s Day, even though it may take a while I hope you find your way back to yourself. Even just a little. Because no matter how much time passes, a part of me will always be waiting for the woman who once brought my shoes inside before the rain came.
To all the mothers in the world, Happy Mother’s Day.
But somewhere in these words, I was only ever trying to reach my own.
That night, it rained.
Tired from the trip, I fell asleep almost immediately.
I slept through the night and half of the next day, and when I woke up, I found my shoes still outside the door, soaked from the rain.
I know I should have been responsible for them. But that day, I realized the woman who used to care enough to bring them inside was gone.
The shoes were soaked, but it wasn’t the rain that bothered me. It was the quiet realization that you no longer noticed the small things that once mattered.
Not because you were no longer yourself, but because something else had taken a hold of you. Something heavier, something that slowly replaced the person I used to know.
I love you.
I knew I suck at saying those three words. But despite how much I struggled with the parts of you I didn’t understand in the quiet moments, I hope you knew this: I’ve always longed for you in all your changing versions, just as I was, with all the different versions of me.
Even when I’m far away, I still root for you.
Even though we speak less and less, I hope you know how much I still crave to talk to you.
This coming Mother’s Day, even though it may take a while I hope you find your way back to yourself. Even just a little. Because no matter how much time passes, a part of me will always be waiting for the woman who once brought my shoes inside before the rain came.
To all the mothers in the world, Happy Mother’s Day.
But somewhere in these words, I was only ever trying to reach my own.
