Marrakech: and a tale of a broken heart

I knew from the way that he looked at her, that it was over.  That I had lost him somehow.  He had crossed over to that other place where 11 year old creatures with long locks were infinitely more intriguing.  For them, yes, for them, he would tell his best stories, enticingly embellished.  For them, just for them, he would dash up the mountain, pretending he was not out of breath.  For them, only for them, he would share his headset..watching, waiting to see……. if they smiled back, if they tossed their hair, if they looked at him out of the corner of their eye

As for me, I had become just…..just a mother.  Nothing more, nothing better, nothing special.  The one who told him to brush his teeth, to pick up his shoes, to do his homework.  I now lived in that grey place of regret over squandered moments.  The ones where I didn’t pay attention because I was too busy, or too distracted, or too selfish.  All those moments, now gone, when his best had been just…just for me.