when i was younger, my mom
used to tell me little stories.
i can cleary remember the stories
she used to tell
about a little boy.
he had brown hair,
brown eyes,
average lenght.
he was just the normal boy,
nothing special or
extra-ordinary about him.
but my mom made him sound special.
she used to tell me that he
was her luck and pride
and that she loves
every little flaw that boy had.
his smile
and his big bright eyes
made her feel special too
and she wouldn't wish for someone else.
i never understood
why that boy could possibly be
so special
or who could make her feel that way?
one day i asked her who it was,
if i knew that boy.
and she told me,
smiling: 'once you find out,
you can tell me who it is.'
and i came to understand
it a few years later,
the morning when i looked
in a mirror.
brown hair,
bright brows eyes.
my mom knew.
and since that moment i knew too.
but it was already too late
to tell her that i
figured it out.
YOU ARE READING
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄
Short Storyan almost decade old story. * "one tragedy changed their lives." a story with dialogues and minimal description, in which a boy ends up in the hospital after a car accident and his friend slowly collapsing under the weight of his tortured mind. but...
