I thought I was fine already.
I guess I’m not.

I sat down at the dining table, staring at the food. It’s exclusive. Exclusively for me. Not the best that she has done, but still pretty okay. Anything made with her love is okay. I eat and I listen to my aunt and mother talk. I store my tears and feint out some pressure through the pretense of a sinus. I scream inside as I think of all the wrongs I’ve done. She’s talking, smiling at me; I’m replying but I want to hug her. I want to pamper her as she has done to me. I want to stop making her heart slow down. I cried it all out the exact moment they exited our home’s door. I broken down and lost it. I am broken, so broken, and I have broken her too.

I won’t anymore.

Why do humans refuse to listen to what is good? Why do humans not know the very best that is in front of them and not appreciate it?

I always thought I have no one to go home to at the end of the day. It stands to a certain extent: she cannot relate to nor fully understand everything I am doing. But I know she loves me a lot. A lot a lot a lot a lot. And no matter what, at the end of the day, she will still love me.

I don’t know what I will do when the day comes for you to leave.
I love you Mummy.