"I don't want to see you miss the chance to be young," she says,
and I hear the mistakes she's made in a cracking voice.
Her mind wanders through frozen lands, made beautiful by time,
frosted, hazy memories, more dream than real,
but who's to say which is true?
I'm already there, mother, in the confines of what used to be,
and the hopes I had once have shrunken down to intangible things.
I'm more lost than I've ever been as wrinkles form from frowning too much,
and laughing too hard.
Yesterday I was on the playground, spinning in a tireswing as you fell in love
with me -- your little girl.
Now I'm standing at a crossroad, faced with growing up or getting lost in what was; what could have been.
Mother, I know what you want me to do, but I don't know if I can.