Threshold

Entry 14 – Lily (A memory served warm)

A young girl, Lily, in her early teens, sat in a cozy, rustic space at a wooden table surrounded by earthy tones.

Beside her, a pair of crutches was leaned against the wall – witnesses to her everyday struggles.

The morning sunlight shone through the window, casting a soft, comforting golden glow that warmed her skin.

Her lips curved into a bittersweet smile as she basked in the heart-aching familiarity of the moment.

In front of her sat a steaming bowl of her mother’s signature homemade pasta– its rich aroma so vivid, it filled more than her stomach, it filled the empty space in her heart.

Beside it, a crusty loaf of bread and a pat of butter completed the meal – tender, ordinary things now wrapped in relived memory.

It had been a year since her mother’s passing, and until now, she hadn’t found the strength to do anything that brought her this close to memory.

She had tried so hard to avoid reminders, anything relating to her mother.

But grief is not a place you escape, it’s a shadow you learn to walk with.

She took a spoonful and her emotions stirred in a tidal wave of warmth and sorrow.

This was the first time she’d tasted this meal since her mother had taken her last breath.

And somehow, she’d managed to cook it herself– despite her condition, despite the struggle.

No helper. No ease.

Only effort, pain… and love.

But she was resilient.

A single tear traced her cheek as she scooped another bite. It tasted exactly as she remembered.

Her eyes slowly drifted across the room, landing on a small portrait on the wall.

She silently called out, “Mom…”

. . .

Hardly do rivers count when oceans flow by.

Clouds are nothing except those over the mount of our memories.

Whenever I pass by the garden,

I care less about the flowers.

Funny, it seems – that’s the essence of gardens,

But their beauty lies in the memories we made around them.

Now I stare at the same scenery with a heavy heart, longing to feel the wonder with you again.

It’s my partly illusion,

partly my loneliness,

mostly… my yearning looking for you.

Looking to be found.

.

* * * * * * *

Hiya folks !

There’s something really beautiful about the way light meets darkness.

A little cloud,

heavy with its own weight,

but rains gently,

not to drown,

but to nourish.

And beneath it rises a wildflower,

glowing softly,

unafraid to open its heart to the light.

That’s what grace looks like,

to stand in the dark,

receive what comes,

and still be a light.

The night is still young here,

and I think you're the flower tonight.

You've always been.

I hope the day was kind, and blissful to you.

May the night cradle you in calm warmth and relive your stress.