Your mother is always with you. She’s
the whisper of leaves as you walk down
the street. She’s the smell of certain
foods you remember, flowers you pick,
the fragrance of life itself. She’s the
cool hand on your brow when you’re not
feeling well, she’s your breath in the air
on a cold winter’s day. She is the sound
of the rain that lulls you to sleep, the
colors of a rainbow, she is Christmas
morning. Your mother lives inside your
laughter. She’s the place you came
from, your first home, and she’s the
map you follow with every step you take.
She’s your first love, your first friend,
even your first enemy, but nothing on
earth can separate you. Not time, not
space. Not even death. -unknown-
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