Nobilis
The Nine-Tailed Fox
Staff member
Herald
Inner Sanctum Nobility
♔ Champion ♔
- Local time
- Today 11:03 AM
- Messages
- 1,261
- Pronouns
- They/Them
It starts as a tightness—quiet, soft, but unrelenting. Like something can go wrong. And anything might.
Would she be cared for? Would someone be mean to her? Would she eat properly? Would she get lost?
What if she did? What if she didn't? And it comes in waves, of never-ending doubt and sorrow. She's growing up and there's nothing that you can do about it. You cannot stop the progression of time and have to watch as the world changes around you. As the world changes around her.
You made a promise that day. That special beautiful day when she was born that you would always protect her and keep her safe. But now you realize that you can't keep that promise. That she has to grow up and that even though she's so young, you have to send her out into the world and that you can't stand there next to her. You can't shield her from schoolyard bullies or make sure that she eats all the carrot sticks that you carefully cut up for her lunch.
What started as a mild grip on your heart strengthens. It tightens and squeezes as the days pass and the start of school gets closer. You watch her read her favourite book on the couch, her mouth moving as she sounds out the words and then laughs. You swear quietly when you notice that your water has been boiling for a while and quickly turn off the stove. You look over and she's looking at you smiling. You resolve to take her to the park later so that you can watch her play.
Each moment that passes, another little hole in your heart. Holes made from her absence. Tiny holes that threaten to grow into a vast and infinite ocean of sorrow, knowing that she's taking her first steps on her own, and that those steps lead her away from you.
God, when was the last time that you were at a school? It feels like a lifetime ago. It was a lifetime—maybe two or three—ago. You were so different then.
You were a child yourself. Stepping away from your own parents to leave your own mark on the world. You left a million little holes in the hearts of your mother and father, and you didn't even realize it. But now you know, and you know what it feels like.
Returning to school after so many years is different. The buildings look the same, but everything is different. Everything is so small. The tables. The chairs. The scissors.
Her.
At the end of the day, she'll come home. And little holes will be filled as she tells you about what she learned. But not all of them.
Some of those holes will never heal.
Every day, a return to school. And every day, those little holes open up like small black holes in your chest, threatening to eat up your heart.
But every day, she's stronger. Bigger. Braver.
With every return the pain dulls and the sadness lessens, but it never goes away.
There's always at least one little hole in your heart, and it's shaped like her.
Would she be cared for? Would someone be mean to her? Would she eat properly? Would she get lost?
What if she did? What if she didn't? And it comes in waves, of never-ending doubt and sorrow. She's growing up and there's nothing that you can do about it. You cannot stop the progression of time and have to watch as the world changes around you. As the world changes around her.
You made a promise that day. That special beautiful day when she was born that you would always protect her and keep her safe. But now you realize that you can't keep that promise. That she has to grow up and that even though she's so young, you have to send her out into the world and that you can't stand there next to her. You can't shield her from schoolyard bullies or make sure that she eats all the carrot sticks that you carefully cut up for her lunch.
What started as a mild grip on your heart strengthens. It tightens and squeezes as the days pass and the start of school gets closer. You watch her read her favourite book on the couch, her mouth moving as she sounds out the words and then laughs. You swear quietly when you notice that your water has been boiling for a while and quickly turn off the stove. You look over and she's looking at you smiling. You resolve to take her to the park later so that you can watch her play.
Each moment that passes, another little hole in your heart. Holes made from her absence. Tiny holes that threaten to grow into a vast and infinite ocean of sorrow, knowing that she's taking her first steps on her own, and that those steps lead her away from you.
God, when was the last time that you were at a school? It feels like a lifetime ago. It was a lifetime—maybe two or three—ago. You were so different then.
You were a child yourself. Stepping away from your own parents to leave your own mark on the world. You left a million little holes in the hearts of your mother and father, and you didn't even realize it. But now you know, and you know what it feels like.
Returning to school after so many years is different. The buildings look the same, but everything is different. Everything is so small. The tables. The chairs. The scissors.
Her.
At the end of the day, she'll come home. And little holes will be filled as she tells you about what she learned. But not all of them.
Some of those holes will never heal.
Every day, a return to school. And every day, those little holes open up like small black holes in your chest, threatening to eat up your heart.
But every day, she's stronger. Bigger. Braver.
With every return the pain dulls and the sadness lessens, but it never goes away.
There's always at least one little hole in your heart, and it's shaped like her.