Mama Love lives with five people. One is related by birth, one by marriage, one through adoption and two are unrelated. One is Danish, one is green, one has diamonds for ears and two are emotionally sensitive. And a dog.
Quite a fantastic household, she has been running there. In the sense that it belongs to the strangest fantasies.
Mama Love and her husband were attracted to each other like magnets from the moment they met. The two hot-headed people had finally found their cool in each other.
Mama Love’s husband eats her cherry lips like dessert and they grow back after every seven minutes. Ah the longing for the next kiss to arrive.
Their child, Wyrrd creates inanimate objects that move, when directly spoken to.
The diamond eared girl only talks with words that are synonymous with pink.
The Danish woman is the youngest, 104 years old.
The dog is cute.
In spite of their oddities, they’re all held together by the strong force of Mama Love. She’s the only one who receives a lot of fanmail.
Some academicians at the surface mistake Love as Lava for her address.
Mama Love, 565 Core Mansion, NiFe Street, Heart of the Planet.
The world won’t freeze over, as long as there’s the fierce Mama Love, living within.
My heart melts as I write about them. I can’t help it, I’m emotionally sensitive.
1 comment:
Around this time last year i lost my papa or maybe it was the year before it; i have lost track of time since.
As far as i remember i have always been lost, having an unquenched need to be guided. I remember following the trail my papa used to leave for me, the one i used to hop around. Sometimes i would skip ahead and try flaunting my abilities in locating the finest pasture but mostly i would keep close to him for he was my only certainty in this hugely uncertain world.
I remember the day i last saw him. My papa begged our god for him to preserve the only thing he had willingly given us. But i guess god, just like the humans, doesnt understand us or maybe our god isnt as powerful as theirs and hence my papa was sacrificed. T hey said it was necessary. they said it was for God. And yet they kept papa for themselves to feast upon him later.
I cannot fathom how something so biased can have such contrasted existence. Religion for them. Death for us. Queer, though, to die for someone else"s faith.
I was there when they did it, the holy sacrifice. They let a piece of vicious metal slowly tread its way through my papa's flesh never hurrying through it. I guess its better satisfaction to the gods to let us suffer more, even during death. I heard papa belllow in voices i had never heard before and therefore did not understand but it had a more significant impact on my shivering self than any other. My eyes were hazy with the benign tear drop that wouldnt leave my eyes as if blocking the spectre on purpose. Blurred, i saw the blood ooze out from where the metal so benevolently lay, the same blood which courses through my body. Slowly, i saw the legs give away. i believe i saw them move even after he was long gone. i am not so sure now, though.
Its that time of the year again. I had long resigned to my fate after my papa's death. But the cloth bound around my neck, one i would have loved to flaunt in a parallel world, reminds me of my approaching death. i fear it more than ever. The bellows of my papa ring through my ears. i wish it wouldnt hurt much...
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