Fleeting

My life is fleeting.
into a million pieces.

I am like my mother.
A chaotic wonder. Filled to the brim with emotions.

My cup overflows with generations of color. With love, with anger, with passion, with hurt, with forgiveness. The entire spectrum. Whole-heartedly bleeding; bursting at its seams.

I wonder, sometimes, if my life will be like my mother's. If I, too, will leave early because i have already given so much of me.

Her life line was snipped with the sharpest pair of scissors. An audible stop. A screeching of breaks. What was once full of life and technicolor madness, had become a reversal of an ink blot in water - sucked away.

The impact of her existence was like a rumbling of thunder. She existed in every crevice of the people in her life. Her fears and anxieties were not seen, rather a friendly face to embrace you. She was a force in her community, the beat of a drum in our family - causing sheer mayhem, but always resuscitating us with sweet oxygen. She was beauty, she was grace.

She loved me - endlessly, painfully, agonizingly. It was unconditional.

And now me. I have her mannerisms. I have her habits and her hair, both frazzled.

I feel her in my steps. I am living out my mother's life. And I am in awe that I was wonderfully made, knitted stitch by stitch in her womb.

But in lieu of this, I am constantly in wonder. Will I leave as fleetingly as my mother? One day I will for sure... but so swiftly? Will I? As soft as a whisper, as empty as a carafe? Is it my destiny?

And yet, in a humorous way, I would be honored to leave in such way. A loyal and surrendering way. I love my mother, I want to be reunited with her.

As the seasons go, I watch leaves fall and leaves grow. Life bursts in technicolor starburst. And I see that my mother's love is embedded into the lace of my fingerprints, in the beating of my heart, and is interlocked into my timeline. Fleeting or not, she is with me.