The Rocking Chair

There was an old woman who used to sit on the rocking chair while staring to the sunset over the tower accross the terrace of her house. She was a  seventy-something grandma of her seventeen-year-old favorite girl. She waited there for years with the same position, the same anxiety, and the same clothes' style - drinking tea from the same cup and chewing the same brand of biscuits.

What made difference was the time which changed as the girl grew up. It was twelve turned to be three and got to be six. If the clouds didn't bother hiding the sky from red to black, from glad to sad, sunset was the only entertainment she had while seeking sound of the footsteps, knowing the girl had gone home safely, kissing her hand, and helping her waking up from the rocking chair - the old-wooden one with crying out rhymes as it shook.

All she needed was that girl. She didn't want to have dinner or to get to sleep before seeing that girl close to her. She took care her, prayed for her, and slept next to her every night. Fortunately, she loved that girl too much. Yet, unfortunately she loved that girl too much.

And one day, the sunset didn't look nice anymore. It was difficult choice. She didn't want to let go but the girl had to chase her dreams. She still waited on her rocking chair wishing the girl come back and hugging her. She missed her until having no appetite and she began to sick. On the fortieth day of the flight, the old woman lied down on the rocking chair for the last time - the old-wooden one with crying out rhymes as it shook.