But not now.
But if you’ll ever reach this, you’ll have to know that someone is more than grateful to have you. I know. I know I’m not the same little girl you used to look after. It’s been a long while, and sadly, this has to go on for a little longer. Yeah, I miss telling you stories. Good ones. Happy ones. But you have to wait a little longer for the next one, too. Such a long road, this is. I think I’m running out of stuff, whatever they are. But I’m going on anyway. I’ve been thinking a lot, maybe too much, and it’s awfully draining me. But that, you must not know. I won’t burn you out with all these shits. And if only there’s a way to keep them from you forever, I mean the sad stories, I’ll go for it. It’s not that I don’t want you to know about me or how I am now. I just hate it when I make you worry. And you will [worry] if you’ll know. And no, it’s not what you’re thinking. It’s not so fine out here. Things are a little too surprising but not necessarily in a good way. Maybe not the worst, but neither anything pleasant. It’s not that I’m selfish to you or I don’t miss you at all. I do, indeed. But I see, this is not the life I want to tell you about. It’s hard. It’s hard for me to take it that you’re not with me in this. It’s never your fault. I was the one who decided. It’s hard, but it’s not hard to cry. Sometimes I wish I can just run home to you, brush these shits off, and drink my half-glass of milk. Pfff. I’ve been thinking back of the good old days, but what for? Well, they still make me smile though. I’ve got a lot of stories to tell you but certainly not now. Maybe when I can afford to laugh at these things, then we’ll sit down over coffee or your home-made tea. We have to wait for that time so you won’t have to mourn over things with me; just smile at how I laugh at them. By then, I’ll have wrapped my untimely birthday gift for you – my beautiful stories sealed with hugs and kisses for you. Happy birthday, Mom! 🙂