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A Letter to My Mother 

Dear Gina, 


            A fallen eyelash brought me here. The first eyelash that dared to cling to my soft, unscathed cheeks. When you directed me to make a wish, I wished for you. I wished that you would stay with me. I apologize for my youth and inability to comprehend the life sentence I assigned you to, but, look Mama, here we are. I would hope that you will forgive me, but I know you will. I know you love me more than you ever thought you could. Although sometimes I think the roles are reversed because I love you like I birthed you. I see myself in you, just as you see yourself as me. Or maybe you have just taught me so well that we have blended into one, learning from each other about which parts of ourselves to exclude from the final project of us.  

            Mom (I never call you that, it sounds too formal), I’m sorry. I only write when I’m sad, and you’ve never read any of my work. I don’t want it to hurt you. I cannot let you think that it’s your fault because it is not. Nothing is. I don’t know what is wrong with me, but you didn’t do it. Even though I know you still won’t believe me, I promise you. I promise you, just like my eyelash promised to fulfill my wish when the breath flew out of my 4-year-old lungs. I promise you like you promised me that you would make my life better than yours was.  

            Sometimes, when I do something wrong, I repent to you as if you are my god. Sometimes I think you are. By having your love, I know I can do anything. Anything bad that happens to me is part of a bigger plan you’ve handcrafted. Wherever I go, I always let you guide me. I trust you. I have faith.  

            Thank you. I know I haven’t said it enough, but thank you. I embrace every part of me that was created by you. I love you. 




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