Was I the apple of her eye?

My mother used to tell me that my eyes were the exact color of apple sauce,
that she would have eaten them if she could. AppelKoongen--Apple King--this
was my nickname. She would press her lips against my eyes and pretend to
suck out my eyeballs, the long slurping sound ending in a resounding kiss.
I would wriggle on her lap, shrieking.

I used to tell her that I would never leave her, would always live with her.
In a sense I do. I feel I am being watched from afar, that, with every step,
every corner I turn, I am dancing, that I will dance into her soon.

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