An Ember in the Shadows

I wrote this story because I know what it's like to feel unloved.

• Fiction

								
It's funny how the bad moments always outweigh the good. You could be a saint, obeying every command, but the moment you slip up, it’s like none of it ever mattered. I don’t know what I did to become the greatest disappointment in my mother’s life–God knows I try my best. But in the end, all I am is a piece of trash she picked up on the side of the road. At least, that’s how I feel. Because every word uttered is a lie when it comes out of my mouth. Every tear escaping from my mournful eyes is a ruse. After all, I am the most ungrateful, argumentative, and dramatic daughter my mother had the misfortune of giving birth to.
 But what about all the nights spent crying myself to sleep? What about all those thoughts spiraling into chaos trying to find out what I could do to finally be enough? What about….me? Why couldn’t I ever be enough? Why am I always the villain in her story? What did I ever do to deserve this? 
These thoughts swirled through my head, the answers always too far to grasp. Perhaps one day I would be enough. Perhaps I already am.
 The dark cloud shaped like my mother slowly loosened its hold on my mind. I would never be enough for her, but maybe I could be enough for me. But every time the golden wave of self-love tries to fill the gaping hole in my heart, the dark cloud looming overhead shrieks. It dives down, determined to put an end to this nonsense. Self-love? What kind of absurdity is that? The battle begins, but the dark cloud cackles. It has spent years spreading its roots, contaminating the deepest parts of my mind. The golden wave resists valiantly, but soon all that is left is a void even deeper than the one before, waiting to swallow me whole. As the dark cloud sealed me shut in a tomb of its own creation, it sneered, convinced that it had felled me. 
Then he arrived, with his gentle eyes and enchanting smile. He lifted me every time I fell, and his brightness slowly seeped into me. The playful conversations gradually deepened, turning into nights where he would hold me close and whisper sweet nothings into my ear. The dark cloud fought, pushing doubt into my mind, but it was no match for his sparkling wave, as it swept through and left no trace behind. My bottomless void evened out, as he carefully glued my wretched heart back together. Piece by piece, he mended the cracks my mother had left behind, filling the emptiness with warmth I had never known. His love wasn’t loud or demanding; it was quiet and constant, giving me the strength to heal. They say a mother’s love is all-encompassing, but hers wasn’t—his was. 
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