𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒, carl grimes

lv. edelweiss

FIFTY-FIVE,
edelweiss

⋆

THERE WAS AN INFATUATING FACTOR, about being a mother.

From the moment of birth, the stopwatch of your time remaining on Earth began, ticking away the seconds with each singular breath that expanded your flexed lungs. Every inspiration, that led to a gradual expiration, was the criteria required for the natural human to fade away, closer to the grim embrace of death. It was an elusive fate that none could escape, despite the countless attempts many had strived against the moral logic, in order to avoid the transition of decomposition that contained such a looming mystery.

In spite of the agitating stigma focusing the topic, we were all merely animals. Creatures, similar to the majority in the vast kingdom, who were destined to meet death. Even the ones that many worshiped as their one, true entity of a mother, were destined to meet the embrace of a sinister, blunt death.

It was often observed how, those who once experienced the gift of enduring through a mother's love, never spent their days fretting over their demise. Rather, did many of these adored beings worry of another, instead — that of their child, who they commonly loved more intently than anything, or anyone, else. After having cradled an infant within them for several months, providing life with their own nutrients, it was only natural to assume, the two would have a bond, unlike any other. One connection that must never be understood, unless you happened to be one of the two parties, condemned to be forever attached, from the moment of birth. When, the being who offered their life to another, over a course of several days, finally met their one, true reason of living, and love.

Ella continued to wonder what it may have been like, to experience such an intensity of love. An infatuation separate from all others, different, per say, from the adoration that hindered her mind, whenever around the company of a particularly stubborn brunette. A force that would forever intrigue her oblivious senses, at how it was seemingly capable, to consider herself whole, for the first time, in her entire life, simply with the company of an infant yet to be conceived. To hold her own child, her own flesh and blood, between her hesitant digits, and absorb every single radiation of love. Evidently, with the bond that glued the two together for all of time, using invisible, indestructible strings, that not even the sharped scissors of death could ever find the means to slice.