I wish it were only a bad dream, not a strangling reality. But since I’m typing this fully awake, having consumed my stock of your lullabies, mother, let me confess you my failures. Let me show you my broken wings that cannot take me to the stars you wanted me to touch. Let me show you my hands, bereft. My heart is no longer the one, big, where your dreams would rest; it shriveled in the autumn ever since I wowed to bring you flowers.
It sure kills me to resign to the fact. To resign to the fact that your dreams will remain vain. That I’m the culprit of betraying your hopes. But mother, I have my reasons to excuse; there’s still this giant being of fate blocking my way to reach to you, to find myself.
I’m writing this because you cannot read it. Another deceit on my part but I cannot help it. I cannot tell you the truth, mour. Neither could I keep it to myself anymore. Forgive me for being a false source of your expectations! Forgive me mother!