Lost

My last memory of myself was a bit vague. I remember standing in front of the mirror every morning staring at my long flowing gowns and admiring the way they hugged my curves. But those dresses weren’t the reason for the light in my eyes and the colour on my cheeks. They were there because of the slight swell of my belly underneath. I already loved him, my still forming baby. Don’t ask how I knew it would be a he, I just did. I woke each morning with the knowledge that he would soon be in my arms. You see, I had a daughter before this, but I never loved her. I’d never been ashamed to admit it. I wanted a boy and she spoilt everything, until now. I used to be beautiful. That was what I could make out from their quiet murmurs. They thought my mind had left me and I wouldn’t understand. They would stare and whisper about the premature birth and death of my son. They said it was another girl but I never believed them. They'd always been liars. They would describe how my long fair hair tumbled down my back in a wild mess and how beautiful my eyes used to be. They also said I had a lovely voice, neither high nor low. But all that didn’t matter anymore. I wore my hair up now and my eyes never left the floor. I had began staring fixedly at it after I sent the girl they called my daughter away. It was her fault. That was what the voices told me. They also said I had to leave myself in order to find myself again. I would keep staring, together with my dried tears, till they bring my son back to me

This piece is my entry to @vermillionfox's one paragraph flash fiction contest.

Image is from the original post.