by David Villanueava

Mother sits and stares out the window, and I feel her symphonic blues. It is abnormal to state that I completely understood her, perhaps unethical to say I always knew. I was moving at the speed of sound, so fast that I ironically lost her somewhere far behind. It seems I end up passing by her, or, rather forgetting about her. When she says things like:

“How was your day?” or “How was school?”

It’s like a merry-go-round sometimes, mother. I move so fast that I end up having only a moment to cross your eyes with mine. Yet days go by so slowly, the house remains empty, and it feels like winter along the white tile floor.

It’s hard sometimes to compute the silence your mind exerts. It’s even harder to notice your daily downfalls. But you carry forth with broken smiles hoping to fool someone as blind as me; over and over again. On some days it feels like a cloudless night with you, where starlight illuminates the boundaries of your sorrow. On other days it feels like-well it feels like heaven on earth to be honest about it. A day where not even the most prophetic can cry for the essence of love. But there are days preceding the twilights that give you worries, on which your world is most unclear and grim. The same world that frowns my rainbow smiles, because you are unhappy, because you are misguided of the evident truth. Truth that brings forth tears like a river down your desolate golden plains of lonesome. Salty water that makes your expressions cringe in sadness and distortion. The same water that washes down me mother, on those days which I can see you. It’s your sadness that pitter patters on my empty face, and it feels like a pianist is playing me like a fiddle; over and over again.

“It’s the truth that sets you free.” She always said.

I don’t know what it is about you mother, but it takes two to understand. I don’t know why I can’t avert my colorless eyes away from this picture I took of you, as you sat there this morning and starred outside the window silk, reminiscing of only what was before. While his breakfast sizzles within the greasy pan, and while you lay your palm against your pensive head and start to feel those gray memories. Yet somewhere beyond your autumn hills lie the truth, of why you sit there idly and just dream as the world animates in color and in sound, as the holidays come and go with grievances from empty visits. But it takes two to understand; how the bells of Christmas ring but mean nothing to you, or how the beauty of spring explodes in life of vivid colors…but mean nothing to you. Perhaps you feel like a lonely pedal, surviving against the dangers of the wind? Perhaps you feel like a solo rocket, waiting to blast into the depth of silence and serenity? It’s nine o’clock right now, rain begins to fall outside as rhythmical as your own, and you begin to sing; symphonic and melodic with absolute beauty.

But how blind must a person be to not notice your cloudy skies? How death could a person become to ignore your rapid drizzling quotation marks, that fall screaming, and weeping, and fearing from the thunder and lighting above? It becomes to me, a sense of discomfort. It makes me nervous, kind of unwanted. It condemns me to feel less of a man sitting by you in our-insignificant kitchen table. Though you never say it, I wish you would. Say everything your mind pours down when I’m not here! The stupid truth that I can not compute, because it is the most evident about you.

So let me exile away your tear drops and not care where they go. I move so fast mother, it becomes to feel like a merry-go-round sometimes. But a photo of you captures a moment that tells it all. A photo cursed in black and white that some how came back to life. It’s the music of the truth and passion of the soul that grovels beneath my skin. Hitherto give my beating engine some propellers to fly away. It is the essence of love, it is the beauty of truth! It’s the absolute realization that overwhelms me in a vibration that crescendos within my mortal being, that which tells me: heaven can’t shine without you mother. Because I now feel your symphonic, your dynamic, your incomprehensible blues ring above the heavens and the earth! From the voices of my silent armies, I’ll make sure you smile again; for the rest of your days.