Nobody asked you to be tough, to always stand tall for everybody. I didn't know where you'd gotten the idea from.
A few months after your father's funeral, you moved out. That new job was located far away from home. You needed a rented room nearby, because the traffic was always heavy.
Like all mothers, I never wanted you to leave. If possible, I'd rather keep you close for always.
However, I knew that would make you feel unhappy. I know that doesn't mean you don't love me, despite their accusations on you. You've longed for an independent life since you were 18.
"Besides,"you told me, "this is my turn to start taking care of you, not the other way around."
I sighed. Very well, then.
Three years later, it's still the same. We've been living separately, even in the same city. You only return home once in a while, mostly on the weekends. Sometimes we meet up at some restaurant or mall and hang out all day.
I miss you. I miss our Sunday mornings together by the front porch, with our coffee and my crosswords puzzles. Sometimes you read a book or write on your notebook too.
We don't talk much anymore. I understand that you're busy. You've grown up too. Perhaps you think it's time you solved your own problems.
Be careful what you wish for. You know many rarely take that seriously until it happens.
You stayed over that weekend. As usual, you slept in your old room that night. I passed by your door when I suddenly heard you mumbling. Obviously, you were talking in your sleep, so I quietly opened the door and entered your room.
