Tales from the Edge of the Wood (edgeofthewood) wrote,
Tales from the Edge of the Wood
edgeofthewood

Teenage Angst

My mother sings. I hate it when she sings. It works like this: I'm on my own, far away from here, minding my own business, and things start to shiver. Things start to shiver, and then I feel so comfortable and sickly happy, like nothing could ever go wrong again. That's how my mother makes you feel when she sings. I could be in the middle of cooking dinner, in a meeting at work, whatever, and suddenly I hear her voice, and none of it matters; I have to go to her, because she is still my mother and I am still her little boy, and nothing else means anything when she sings to me.

I am a hundred and forty-eight years old. And eight months.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Lewisham,United Kingdom

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