Maybe in another life, mom
The thought came to me while I was staring out the window, thinking about you.
It was the kind of thought that could never exist in the life we are living now. A life where hope feels almost impossible.
I’ve always lived inside my imagination. You used to hate that about me. You said I dreamed too much, that I wasn’t grounded in reality.
But reality was never something I escaped.
It was always around me.
I never dreamed of having a different mother.
I dreamed that you would become a better mother for me.
We both tried to repair something that had already cracked. Maybe we both made mistakes. Maybe we both carry pieces of the blame. But sometimes I wonder if our relationship was always meant to become this... distant. Was it always destined to slowly disappear until there was nothing left to say?
Maybe.
I’ll never know.
Sometimes I try to imagine what peace with you would feel like.
I imagine sitting beside you without waiting for the next comment that would hurt me. I imagine us walking through the streets, laughing until our stomachs hurt, talking about books, nature, life, or nothing at all.
I imagine you hugging me when the world feels too heavy. Wiping the tears from my face. Smiling at me with those deep blue eyes that always reminded me of the sea.
I imagine admiring your beauty because you’ve always been so beautiful, before falling asleep with my head on your lap while you gently stroke my hair until, for the first time, I feel safe enough to close my eyes.
I imagine you teaching me self-love instead of self-hatred.
I imagine you being proud of me.
I imagine your forgiveness.
I imagine us holding hands.
I imagine us becoming best friends.
I imagine you being the mother I’ve spent my whole life searching for.
But reality has a cruel way of waking us up.
It reminds us that love cannot be forced. That not every wish comes true. That sometimes the harder we fight for something, the further away it seems to move.
“ Maybe I should tell you that you’re searching too hard. That as long as you keep searching, you’ll never truly find.” - Siddhartha
Maybe our broken relationship was always part of the story.
Maybe it was written long before either of us had a chance to change it.
Maybe you were always meant to be distant. To leave me alone when I needed you most. To hate my body and, without ever saying it directly, teach me to hate it too.
Maybe you were always going to call me spoiled whenever I cried because all I wanted was your love.
Maybe you were always going to ask me to pay rent for living under your roof.. To make me feel like I owed you for every meal, every roof over my head, every breath I took under your ceiling.
Maybe I stopped feeling like your daughter the moment I started feeling like a stranger in your heart.
Maybe you were always going to remind me of everything you had done for me whenever I tried to tell you how deeply you had hurt me.
“ Pure love doesn’t come with a price.”
Maybe all of it was already written.
I don’t know.
I guess I’ll never know what it feels like to be loved unconditionally by you.
The pain doesn’t disappear. It settles inside you.
Like limestone building up inside old pipes, year after year, until nothing can flow through them anymore.
Maybe, in another life, things will be different.
Maybe in another life we’ll laugh together instead of hurting each other.
Maybe I’ll grow up knowing what it feels like to be loved by you.
Maybe you’ll finally see me.
Maybe we’ll both become the people we needed each other to be.
Maybe, in another life, Mom...
we’ll make it.
End.
Written by Vilma
