Before your trips, you would write me letters. One for every
day you would be gone, a little something to which I could hold on. I would
open them carefully, ready to read your words. Each morning before school, so
the missing you wouldn’t hurt.
And now I have no letters, no hidden little gifts. I only
have this heart of mine, which continuously rips. I miss your words, I miss
your thoughts, your hidden little gems. And even more I miss the way, I was
prepared back then.
We didn’t see this coming, there was no long goodbye. One moment
you were with me, talking and laughing, though I didn’t always know why. Your
words were always comfort, a constant in my life. Now there’s only silence, the
words are mine to write.
I want to do you justice, let your memory through me live
on. It isn’t fair how little time we had, so few days to call you mom.
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