Stranger At Your Table

This is the last time you will see me as I. for I am about to change. You won’t see it at first mom, heck- you will be blind to this change. But one day, you will wake up, go down our creaky stairs that have aged as well as I have, and come into the kitchen to make your morning pot of coffee. Then you will turn and see a stranger sitting at your table. She will be stronger than me: having a heart guarded with skepticism because she grew up with lies, she will have toned legs-because she runs every time she is scared or sad but in reality, all of these traits make her weak- weaker than anyone. She is not the girl who still dresses in pink dresses anymore, but she still feels as small as her. You might go try to talk to her, see how she is, but this is the first time your seeing this stranger- and you have no idea who she is, or what she likes. So you sit down beside her, look at her and ask “How are you?” then she will answer you with something more than words could convey- as her gaze greets yours, he eyes have darker circles than your own, her lips are dry, and bitten at like yours from stress, fingernails bitten down- a habit she could never break, and her face is sad. After a moment stare, you get up. “Figures,” the stranger thinks, “Mom is just following the advice she once gave me- never talk to strangers.”