The gift we know as life is as precious as the word itself. We come silently into the world until we no longer feel the warmth and comfort of our mother's womb then we scream our disappointment for the world to hear. Then as if we never left, we find ourselves against her skin., taking nourishment and feeling loved. Time takes us away from those early days and her when all she ever wanted was a kiss on her cheek and a few minutes of your time. Looking back, I wonder what was so important when I skipped down the stairs and into four wheels of trouble, never turning around to see her face in the window waving goodbye. How could I have known her broken heart was my fault and I did nothing? How could I have known that only a mother's love can be overtaken by an emptiness only she can react to? How couldn't I know?
MO
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