That feeling was familiar, it was almost her reminiscing. It reminded her of when she young. She wondered what might have finally broken this silence, and then it became clearer. Mother's Day was around the corner - watching over her.
She figured that it would get easier. Naively, she had hoped and prayed that the saying "Time heals all wounds," was actually true. However, for her, it remained a myth that she was yet to experience. Time had certainly not healed her, if anything, it had perhaps worsened her; as she had refused to accept anything had changed after her mother died. After moving jobs and cities, she failed to tell anyone that her mother had just died. Everything was raw and salient once again, with advert after advert of Mother's Day. She wondered if the world was taunting her, it felt like it was caving in - not letting her move on from the past, holding her tightly, bound to her thoughts, past, and everything she had attempted to run from.
Perhaps, this was a little harsh, she wondered alone. It hadn't even been two years since her mother's death - and needless to say, it was rather horrific for everyone involved. She tried to move on, as everyone else did - people forget quickly.
So, while she cuddled a scarf that still smelt like her; eyes welling up as she sat on the floor by the window, her friends were living in the present. Caught in a spiralling headspace, constantly changing; she finally submitted. She allowed herself to be seduced by the sound of the music, the music in the wind as it encapsulated the city, the roaring thunder, the pattering rain, and the scratching of her pen's nib on the page.
She fell in love once again.
She fell in love with words. She fell in love with her story.
She smiled for a moment; only a moment.