A Wordsmith.

It was Ramadan.

Grandparents' house was a stone throw from mine so I always spend time after school there. Papa and Mama worked all day so me and brother always at grandparents'. Bro was out playing. I was watching TV.

"Hey, let's go home."

It was Mama.

She stood in her nightgown. That same old green nightgown I can't picture Mama without. She loved it so much. There was a smile as she held out her hand to meet mine. That very same hand she used to cuddle me through the night all those years. All the veins and softness.

I reached out and we walked home together.

We said nothing as the sun sets on the horizon. I held her hand close. She smiled throughout our walk, watching me. What was she thinking? Was she happy to see me? Or was she happy to take me home? Or was she happy that I'm her daughter?

I didn't ask. I held her hand tighter.

August was a particularly hard month. I had some misfortunes at home, deteriorating health, and so on. My mood and mental health took a hard hit out of everything so I decided to take a small break — as seen in the shortage of post. My watched list reduced rather greatly compared to last months due to such cause. Thought I'd give a longer commentary here just to compensate.