AGING

The metal plates circulate as the bright ochre from the table lamp illuminates the room. Round, round, round and round, the fan spins monotonously. Momma sits on the crook of the unmade bed. The only visible prints of life are the wrinkled sheets that lay on top of the bed. Momma runs her hands through them, taking in the remnants of your charisma. Her legs show goose pimples as her feet rest lightly on the chilling tiled floor. Loose parchments slide across the floor depicting scribbled foreign numbers and addresses. Momma inhales deeply. Your familiar aroma still lingers in the atmosphere; a mix of Chanel no.5 and peach body butter.
Strands of long, coloured hair lay on top of the white pillow case. You bleached your hair against momma's wishes and complaints of hair fall ensued ever since. The balcony door rattles as the midsummer wind blows it open. The bits of paper and tags glide on the floor faster. Momma faces the door with a strong face. The wind outside hums a melancholy tune, much like the sound of momma weeping every night. The lamp flickers, and the abrupt fluctuation in lighting hurts her eyes. She blinks swiftly and exhales another meaningless sigh. The lamp lacks power; the bulb will go out soon; momma refuses to switch it off ever since you've left. The dust has settled; she hasn't let anyone clean the room ever since your departure. The grainy floor beneath her feet disgusts her, yet she sits idly taking in the last imprints of your presence. The filth covered ground gives momma aversions, but she stares unresponsive at the few clean square outlines where your suitcase lay overflowing with shiny clothes and clean underwear, till a few days ago.
The room feels so empty, devoid of your loud telephone conversations filled with excitement regarding your spontaneous findings. The bathroom door swings open in reaction to the incoming wind. The aroma of smoke creeps in. The wet floor and unclean windows screaming for your company. Remember the abundant cigarettes that you smoked in there? Momma still hasn't cleaned up.
These days, momma sighs more than she breathes. Her words don't add up and she's aging painfully. She spends more time wandering and misplaced in her thoughts. Momma's waiting, waiting for something to change. She just never remembers what.