A Mother's Joy

On the whiteboard that hangs in our kitchen, my mum scrawls a reminder to herself in black marker that squeaks its imprint onto the white space.
She puts the lid back on, a smile playing on her face.
A sudden laugh bursts out of her, the happiness lighting up her eyes.
"Isn't it nice to have a mother who can write?" she asks me.
I laugh back bewildered and with it embarrassment and something akin to shame masks her previous joy.
I cringe. Stop. Try to understand.
She slowly explains:
"I was just thinking how amazing it would have been if my mum had been taught how to write".

Light

Let the light touch you. Let it infiltrate your body until every shroud of darkness within you has to run and flee from every crevice that it clings to.

Let the light touch you. Let it burn its way through the worry that plagues you, and revel in the peace that follows. You deserve it, I promise.

Let the light touch you. Let it be a reminder that, like breathing, light is an intrinsic part of who you are. Look around you, the universe reminds us of that with every new day.

Let the light touch you. Let it illuminate your soul until the days it’s not there become the rare ones instead.

Let the light touch you.