October 10th, Year of Silence

I heard my mother laugh today. Briefly, I felt the need for her to love me. The desire to ask if she ever cared arose within me, but I was wise enough to suppress it. Soon after, I grew sick of her presence. This resentment is protective, I know.

A new dawn is not possible, when I keep reusing my first calendar.

I wonder if I am as difficult to care about, as my mother. A curse is passed on, if not contained or eliminated. It reaches far, and poisons thoroughly. So then, we are much alike. I have learned her ways best, by focusing on them. I stared, and I imitated. The differences are now few, and superficial.

She and I, we exist below the surface.

October 10th, Year of Silence

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