Change isn’t just the growing up of life; it’s also the slowing down of life.
A face I’ve known for sixteen years was changing; seeing it as a blur I thought of her all fresh, young and happy; full of life and hope. She raised me strong through the years however now she was shattering my heart and getting me weaker and weaker.
Her face once golden and peachy; was now washed out and drained; her big shiny eyes now unresponsive and gloomy. The arms that supported me through my life are now weak and cold. My mother’s voice…like a defenceless animal, she does not speak. Yet I know she’s silently speaking to me.
The smell of the room is sickly; I can’t get the smell of death out of my head. My mother’s machine is noisy all the time whilst I watch her, I wonder when it will stop beeping, and will my heart stop beating?
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