I refuse to be like your mother….
Not because she isn’t resilient but because I cannot survive the pain she decorates in lace. She cries alone and your father wears the smell of alcohol like cologne. She puts on her smile like makeup. Her shirt is a mask that covers the bruises. She sometimes breaks down to the ground when she thinks you’re in the shower and cannot hear. She brings you your folded clothes like she’s bringing the parts of her that haven’t been destroyed. She asks you to put it away right away. Just maybe, you have the parts of her that have not died. Your mother like many women deserved a happy ending.