I think about you all the time

I think about you all the time.

I smell the tea I'm brewing, and I remember the anticipation I felt when I smelled the tea you were brewing in your kitchen.
I eat tomatoes, and I remember that it is one of your favourites.
I wear my favourite dark blue jubah, and I remember that it was the first jubah that you bought for me - I was fourteen then.
I touch the sole of my feet, the sole has started to crack, and I think of the time I bought you cream for heels.
I rub my sore calf, and understand fully why you asked us to stand on yours when we were small. The pressure from the weight helps.
I look in the mirror, and I remember that you always tell me to put on facial cream. I've started using some, since I'm already seeing obvious signs of aging (haha!). But I'm afraid I haven't gotten into the habit of putting on the lipstick, another advise you always give me.

It's all very poignant of course.

But, it's comforting to know that I will grow old with memories and remembrance of you, or with you - in a way.

I miss you, mother.

I think about you all the time.