The moment I pushed open the door, the only sound in the room was the rustling of pages. Mom was sitting by the bed, her silver hair glowing softly in the light that slanted through the window.

"Grandma!" I called softly. Mom suddenly looked up, her murky eyes instantly brightened, and she clapped her hands and laughed like a child: The spicy hot pot basket is here!
In the next moment, I was wrapped in my mother's warm embrace. She patted my back, calling me softly, as if trying to make up for more than a month of separation.
"What book are you so engrossed in?" I asked with a smile. Only then did my mom let go of me, her eyes still unwilling to move away from me, hurriedly handing the book to me. "It's still these you wrote!" Her fingertips gently glided over the cover of 'Longing for My Hometown', her eyes sparkling with pride, "This book is filled with stories of my youth and our family's house-building tales..."
Looking at the shimmering light in my mother's eyes, I suddenly realized that these books I had written by hand had long transcended the words themselves. They are vessels of time, companions that cross distances, carrying my concern for my mother and filling the lonely years she spent waiting.
#Gateio母亲节献礼#