the one person

A story for my mother

At about a foot under me, and brown unlike my own eyes, she is my favorite person. Brown hair, only barely starting to turn a silver, and white color, a person I could never thank enough, yet never even try to thank enough. I will admit it, hatefully, but the only time I ever seem to thank her, is when she is not there, or when it does not tell her what I am really thankful for. But what about when she is gone for good? Who will I have to thank then? All I will regret is not telling her sooner... Thank you, for everything, from the start that only you remember, to the end that I will never forget, thank you. Most likely saying it, sobbing over her ill filled grave, one that is beneath her, and she is on top. I will forget, of course with a positive feeling forever, yet next to me I will always have you. You will be there every time I make myself something to eat, you will be telling me to eat something better. You will be there every time I see my clean clothes, leave out the door, or even go shopping. I will always remember, and always hope I did something that told you thank you, for you are the only one there, and that is why you are perfect, to me, and all around me, mom.

Author's Note

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