I used to have dreams similar to "Ghost Mother" in my childhood, and such dreams ran through my growing up. Accidentally fall into another world in a dream, and there is also a master in the other world, always female, similar to the character of the witch. The witch forced many children like me to clean the bookcase for her (why the bookcase? I don't remember exactly, but it must have been a wooden one, tall, with a lot of books), we murmured dear as we wept 's mother. In the end, it was the witch's kind and lovely little daughter who opened the secret door for us and found the way to come. I was the first child to escape the horror world. Every time, I was extremely selfish, and I never smiled sincerely at that expression. The mournful girl said thank you, without worrying about whether she would be punished by her hideous ghost mother. The process of running was terrifying. The witch's shrill scream was behind me. It was a pair of jagged hands. I was afraid, but I could only keep running, running, and finally I saw the bright door, exhausted Going towards the light with all our strength, we arrived at a place of peace. The exit turned out to be the paradise that my partner and I often go to. From now on, I dare not set foot there again. I didn't have time to say goodbye to the children who escaped with me, and I just wanted to find my mother. The mother sat on the chair calmly, with a little resentment, and the black cat at home just gave birth to a litter of cubs.
In fact, this terrifying feeling of escaping in a dream has been far away from me for a long time, but today, just today, when I saw Caroline struggling to crawl to her own world, struggling to escape the world of black buttons, This terrifying feeling really covered me again, like a waking dream. "Ghost Mom" reminds me of "Spirited Away", and probably everyone feels the same when fleeing. I don't know if anyone has had a dream similar to mine, maybe every child has had such a nightmare in their childhood. This kind of dream appears at the starting point of our most nervous growing up, the starting point of the happy and wonderful adult time, the secret door that opens the future, but it is actually just a weird and sticky caterpillar belly, and the end point is the ghost mother. black button world.
During that time, it was hot and long, and suddenly I was full of dissatisfaction with my parents, or suspiciously suspected that I was not the child of this family, or, like Caroline, felt that she was completely ignored by her parents. And the ghost mother knows everything, the other mother penetrates the heart of every unhappy child through the wall. She is all kinds of temptations, uneasy and throbbing. With her around, you will feel the barrenness and boredom of the real parents even more. The ghost mother opens the secret door for you. Her evil is that she looks like your favorite mother, and her eyes are made of black buttons, even bigger and brighter than your own mother's eyes. The ghost mother is actually a poor person. One day I escaped from the witch's study again, and suddenly I remembered the gentle look in her eyes when she was deceiving me, and the sharp screams I heard on the way to escape seemed to be what Caroline heard. That shout, she shouted, don't leave me, if you leave me, I can't live. She is pitiful.
But then I can gradually understand that there will never be anyone in the world who treats me better than my parents, even the poor ghost mother, or even the future man in the girl's heart. No one should try to replace her, my mother, as she got older, she sighed at the folds in her hands and the thickening of her waist. I finally understand that the mother who can read poetry, always praise me, and never grow old is the ghost mother, and the father who is always warm, strong, and knowledgeable is the ghost father. A year ago, my mother hugged me. She said sorry to me for the first time in 18 years. My father loved me so much. When he sighed, I heard the heavy love in his chest. There is no one in the world who loves me more than them, never again.
When I was seventeen, my mother and I had a big fight. The reason was that my mother accused me of low self-esteem and negative thoughts during adolescence. My inner weakness and the long-standing depression in my growing up suddenly exploded. My mother and I quarreled and both sides were heartbroken. , but they confronted each other, and no one was willing to compromise. The reason was probably my inheritance of her. I was the most stubborn part of her body. When she was pregnant, she suffered from appendicitis. The doctor advised her to abort the baby, but she kept me almost willfully, so I bleed her persistent blood. Life and life are connected and confronted in this way. This is a delicate battle that only exists between parents and children. Love, but hurt each other. In the many years that followed, I recalled my brief period of rebellion, and I should have been mostly responsible for that injury.
My ghost mother only existed in my heart for a short period of time, and I could not deny that I was dissatisfied with my parents, but that time of escape was over after all. My mother took off the black button eyes for me, and used her tears to wash away the filth that I had accidentally contaminated while growing up. My father always looked at me with distressed eyes. He looked so deeply that he was the softest man in a man's body. emotion. I am my father's little daughter, and my little daughter is my father's lover in a previous life. In fact, I don't believe this sentence, but I still have to say that there will never be any man in this world who loves me more than him. There will never be.
In the winter when the youngest daughter was the most distressed, the mother and father held the cold into stars with both hands, painted the sadness as the sun, and the snow in winter was about to dry. As I gradually became hard, I gradually remembered that at the end of the dreams chased by ghost mothers, it was my real mother holding me. I held her, finally no longer afraid.
Oh! Mom and Dad, I miss you so much.
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