Love

I like sleeping next to her. My mother, I mean. She’s a very quiet woman. We’ve not been in the habit of speaking too much but we find comfort in each other’s company. In fact, it’s only been a couple of years that I would say she’s opened up to me. But should I call it that? See, that’s the strange thing. She doesn’t seem to be the kind of woman who would necessarily want someone to ‘open up’ to. She’s seems very…appeased. To the extent that some would think of her as dispassionate.


I like sleeping next to my mother. Did I tell you that she’s a very quiet woman? Also very gentle. She pays attention to the littlest details. The other afternoon I saw her lying on her side of bed, in her blanket, trying to catch a wink. She likes to nap, you know? The fuzzy blanket coupled with the untroubled look on her face was too inviting for me to pass, so I kicked off my shoes and got in.


Did I tell you that I like sleeping next to her? She would take my hand and then obsess over it like she never saw it before. She says it’s too small, like a child’s hand. But it is very soft and warm. ‘’Your husband will be happy’’, she says. I’d laugh a little with amusement. Then she would rub her hand on mine gently till she'd recede to a soft slumber. I would too. Later, I’d wake up again to see her, awake, facing the other way and looking out the open door of our balcony. Her eyes always seem very distant, you know? She has green eyes. I don’t know what dreams they hold. But then she seems so calm that I wouldn’t go and ask.


She’s a very quiet woman, my mother. But when I sleep next to her, I unwind. She makes me appreciate little things and be grateful for them. Did I tell you that I love her?