Hey mama. Once I said that I wanted to come up with a story so beautiful it made you cry. Remember that? Yeah. I do. Because I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world, and only the most beautiful story in the world could match up to you. But after I told you, I realized that I wasn't a story-teller at all, and I was bad with words and kept tripping over my tongue. And you just looked at me and smiled and told me that you'd hold me to that promise.

Now it's six years later and we're not the same anymore, are we? Because you aren't the most beautiful person in the world anymore (I've long since grown out of that idealistic fantasy where we were the most beautiful people on earth and no one was better than us), and I don't know if I want to make you a beautiful story. It would be like giving a lactose-intolerant kid a carton of chocolate milk and telling him to enjoy. You know? Because you won't listen to my story anyways.

Sometimes I wonder where I went and where you went, and I wish we could get us back. And then somehow brings me back to the real life and I remember that it's six years later, and there's no way we could ever get ourselves back.

Hey mama, did you know that I have stacks and stacks of lined paper stuffed into a folder, filled with my writing and plotting and telling? It was all for you. I've even got them all dated correctly, and god knows I can't even remember what day it is, ever. The last entry is from two years ago, when you first met Cal. I have nothing against Cal, really. He made you feel alive again, except that he shouldn't have when dad was still there. I wish that you and dad had been finished when Cal stepped into the picture.

I wish you didn't fall in love with him.

Words of a selfish, lonely kid who just wants to tell you a beautiful story (not the most beautiful story, I've outgrown that thought). I just want to tell you about a story where there was a mama frog and a tadpole, and the tadpole loved the mama frog so much that it didn't want to leave her even when it was supposed to, and it swam all over the world looking for the mama frog when the mama frog left to go find a new home. And when it finally found the mama frog, the mama frog told the tadpole that she didn't want it anymore, but the tadpole swam back to the mama frog's home every single day and told her stories and sang her songs and danced for her until the mama frog fell in love with her tadpole baby again, and let it into her home where they lived happily ever after.

I think it's a beautiful story. It's okay if you don't, because I've never been good with words or stories or my mouth in general, but I don't know. I've sort of always wanted you to sit down with me on a summer afternoon where there was no school, and we would talk like a mother and daughter should. Instead of this.

I just want to let you know I'm lonely. You've got Cal and Lucy (who is five now, and more beautiful than I could ever hope to be, and so captivating you never want to look away from her), but you can always remember that you've still got me. 'Cause you've always had me, right? I've just never had you. Or maybe I did, but I guess I lost you a while ago.

Hey mama. I want to tell you a story before I go. Because you've got Cal and Lucy, and it's not right for me to be here and interrupt your happy family thing. I just want to tell you something that's almost the most beautiful story in the world, will you take time to listen to me before I have to leave?

written on a whim :
no updates for plastic ::
(not that anyone misses it anyways, but uh)

Prompts: a mama and her baby
Characters: well, a mama and her baby.

it's 1:12am. i think i should sleep.