Cine mi-s eu in fata mea?

And I wondered, pondered, searched and eventually found my uncomfortable answer...I understood that I raised myself into feeling guilty for being alive and disturbing my mother's unfullfilled journey in life...Would it be a sin to admit that I cannot remember her, that I cannot pick her up from my childhood memories? She's just a shadow, a blurred image of her skirt and legs falling into a dark background. A beautiful voice and a soft, white motherlike skin that came as quickly as she went. Who was I to reduce her essence to a fragile and plain existence?
"Where's my little artist?" called to her everyday my unknown grandfather...A radiant rebel with so much to prove...and now a bitter, kind to her bones, plain old woman...with the ghosts of her dreams sleeping inside my tortured soul...
I look down at my hands...and see my grandmother, a disaster at her only real job in this cunning world, a failure as a mother, an improvement as a grandmother- too little, too late...
I look down at my heart...and see a little child running so hard to catch up a shade that never stops moving...always too far to reach, close enough to be seen...and I..an empty shell, filled with small, insignificant pieces, no shine, no nothing...

"If only, if only" fidgets my everyday life...

Cine mi-s eu in fata mea?

un simplu "nu stiu" imi "linisteste" cutele fruntii batatorite de soarele existentei efemere...