Chiquitita, you and I cry, But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you.
Why do we have this self-imposed idea that throughout our lives we are meant to maintain a perfect, crisp version of ourselves? Like untouched snow, or fresh school shoes that we don't want to scratch.
I would like a conversation, where we talk about life and living and what it all means. Maybe after, my brain will turn into liquid and drip into dreams.
Today, I bleed. In the space of a year, everything has changed.
It makes me feel bad that my family have had to look after me so much. I hate being a burden, boring and a frustration. I hate that they had to wake up in the night to help me with medicines or when I was throwing up.
When I wake up, my heart doesn’t split into a thousand pieces. My head doesn’t pound with questions asking me why us, or how are we here. When I reach for a mug for my coffee, my hands don’t shake when I see Mum’s mug.
I wondered whether Mummy felt this way too when she was in hospital and whether I did enough to comfort her. I hope she never felt alone when she was with me.