Mother

Just when I think I’ve crossed the line, I’m good, it’s real, I’m ready to be open, to tell my parents how I’ve lost my faith and because of that how much I love life now, Mother says, “I’ve been praying for you.” And I want to cry, to crumble, to fall on my knees, crumple to the floor exhausted and empty and lost, but willing to be found.

Except, it never worked that way.

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