Hooked on the wisdom of words. But. I never know what to say or write, as the occasion arises.
Not that I’m shy.
It is half a decade into the pandemic, and I find myself further in the dark. Out at the park. The local park bench of my childhood. As my testosterone and oestrogen levels slowly take a downhill dive.
I was five, and where was my father? He was out of sight. They took him, they took him into the mountains, and he was fading. He was fading into the darkness.
I’m exhausted by the flashbacks. My back hurts, from the Lunar rollercoaster ride, the highs and the lows, and then the lows. But the soft cotton textured darkness carries me. Sleep please, the anger in my heart. Let me depart. Let me sleep.
Kisses, kisses on my forehead, my head. And it was dawn again. Did I wash my hair? My children, I dare say, are towering over me. It has been a lifetime you see. So please, please be gentle with us.
.
See us please
The greys in our hair
The skin tags
The bags
The wisdom in our eyes
Acknowledge the pain
We have gained
On our hips is an expanding universe
The weight of our children.
We are old, but there is still so much to learn, the concerns of depleting minds. The non-existent presence of middle-aged women.Source: Menopause – Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm







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