I remember time when I was obsessed with hearing about my mother and the stories that my dad used to tell me were the only ones who were to put me to sleep.
My mother was a very beautiful woman, She was humble, kind, strong, and smart.
I was obsessed with their love because Dad told me that my mom used to work at a restaurant he used to frequent, but that was a lie.
I had this picture of their love in my mind, and it was just unbreakable and pure, but now I don't even know who they were.
apparently, my mother was everything that my dad told me she was, and at least that was true.
The more my uncle told me about her, the more it hurts that God took her from me before I could have a lifetime of memories with her.
I don't fault them for choosing themselves and their love because I don't
