My love
My mother.

My love to my mother is beyond the realm of words. My mother is so more than words, and she always was and forever will be.

To truly mirror my love for her, you’d have to invent new dimensions of communication and expression.


My mother’s beautiful.
My mother’s smart.
My mother’s sweet.
My mother’s kind.
My mother’s funny.
My mother’s loving.
My mother’s loved.

She’s like the sunrays, shining brightly as she’s providing you warmth and love.

She’s always there, ready to help and love.
Waiting for the time someone would hug her first.
Maybe waiting for the time she would hug herself.
She needs it.

I dont think she appreciates herself enough, and just that thought breaks me. I don’t understand — how could one not love her?
Finding a negative feature in her, or someone who doesn’t love her, seems like an impossible reality. Like made up, fictional fantasy.


Oh how I love her.