Yellow-White Parchment

She held me like the baby I used to be and told me that it was okay, that
everything was going to be okay, and that she would forgive me if I could
forgive her.

And then she weeped into my shoulderblade and I think I thought I felt the
clenching of her teeth, that's how hard she was weeping. I weeped, too, while
scrolls of parchment leaked from the back of my brain and melted into the front
of my closed eyelids.

These are the words that appeared on the parchment, which was yellow in color
but mostly white:

"No matter what you do, I will always love you. When you're feeling alone and
empty and your heart feels sore or swollen or sickly, I will still love you.
When you feel like you need to call me, call me and talk to me and I'll tell you
how I love you more than you might think sometimes. When you need to be reminded
that you were born into this world with ten fingers and ten toes that were
capable of healing the world, you come on over to my house and we'll have some coffee . . ."

The parchment is torn at the bottom. I open my eyes. She is gone. I am alone,
but as full of company as I'll ever be. As full of company as I'll ever be. As full of company as I'll ever be.