Ryou's ears piqued and for the first time he looked at her with attention with a pair of boyish brown eyes. That simple phrase, 'That's nice.' with her small smile made his heart throb, "Barely he's a very suspecting sort of fella." He told her as she continued on with her careful tiptoeing around her sons' lives. She was physically there, but at the same time her warm soft dewy glow, silver hair and graceful attention, she was like a ghost, a beautiful one at that.
She gives a soft, genuine laugh at the comment. Not that it was funny, but because it was the truth. âI guarantee he has a right reason to be. Just the same as some others I know.â She offers as they continue to walk. Its not long before the sidewalk distorts causally and the sound of their feet hitting pavement slowly turn to the sound of crunching leaves. A couple cats meow at them walking by, some even rubbing against Ryouâs leg. The world around them changes and gives off a very familiar vibe to Ryou as they continue their quiet walk.
Thereâs an old stone wall they walk passed half eaten by leaves and decay. The ground dips as they make their way to a clearing with a small lean in and a fire pit. She sits down on the log of a fallen tree and gestures him over to sit next to her. She knows this is a place where Ryou likes to be alone, and rather delivering the pie to the speakeasy, and make him... well, uneasy, she figured this might be a nicer place. She just prayed he wouldnât get too terrified.
Once he takes a seat on the same log, though not too terribly close to her, she passes him the box. A beautifully wrapped box, with another delicious pie inside. Of course itâs still fairly warm, but the smell of peach and bourbon emit ever-so from the box. Hints of nutmeg and cinnamon also arise as well. She opens her mouth to say something, anything as she worries the corner of the envelope she was holding, though to no avail. Quietly she hands him the card too.
Iâve never quite been elegant with my words. As of late, my tongue seems to twist, and my tongue unable to say whatâs on my mind. First and foremost, Iâm sorry. I know itâs a broad statement, and though Iâm thoroughly aware that it doesnât quite cover everything, I hope the sentiment helps old wounds. I know Iâm not the mother you remember, nor will I perhaps ever be. I am proud of who youâve turned out to be, and though sometimes you may doubt it, it still holds true.
All the days of sorrow will vanish in tomorrowYou can count on me, my loveTo be here
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