"Even when a star dies, it gives birth to another one. It's mere existence is life and growth. One day I wish to be as infinite as the stars. To exist forever, if at least in their hearts."
When you left, you were not looking for a savior.
When he...
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For the past few days, you have been walking in a haze. A faded one consistently drifting between reality and the nightmares that keep you up at night. The nightmares that never seem to escape you no matter how many times you think they have gone for good.
You have found yourself in a sort of limbo.
One in which you go to practice by day, pushing your body to its limits each time if only to feel something other than pain. Only to pull back when the flashing images become too much to bear and visit your mother. Each day, every step you take in that godforsaken hospital only growing more dreadful with each passing day. Doubts and fear overtaking your mind until you barely see by the time you reach her door. Wondering if this time she will be awake, if this time that monitor will beat its last crescendo, or if she will be the same.
A pale lifeless doll of what she once was.
And each time, you find yourself still shocked still at the sight of her in that dull white cot, eyes shut, and hands cold.
Growing up, you saw your mother as a superhero. She would always chase the bad guys away and always protect you when you needed her the most. When your hands were covered in your father's blood, she was there. She didn't flinch away or look at you in fear, she just held you tight to her bosom and told you it would be alright. She fought for you when they threatened to take you away and stood up for you when it seemed as though the entire world had forsaken you.
Not once did she falter, not once did she show you an ounce less of love than she had for you the day before. She was always there, always ready to hold you in her arms.
A superhero.
And now that image has been shattered, and you see her for what she always was.
Human.
She bleeds and she hurts as everyone does. She cries and calls out for her mother when she's in pain, no matter how old she is. She doesn't have super speed or super strength, and she's not stronger than anyone else. When she's scared she's scared, and when she bleeds she bleeds, red and thick and pooling.
But she must be some kind of hero, mustn't she?
For even when she was at her lowest, all she could think about is whether or not you were okay. She comforted you, pressing her palm against your cheek as you sobbed over her dying body. She smiled even though she was shaking.
No matter how many times you see her, it doesn't get easier.
And so each time you can't find it within yourself to stay longer than a few minutes. You stumble out of the room, unable to even hold her hand for fear you would find it as icy cold as that night when you thought she had faded away from your reality. You push past nurses and doctors, and then find yourself back in the courtyard where you were the first time you were here.
