My mother read Kahlil Gibran and Oscar Wilde.
She couldn't cook but she knew food.
When she smoked, it rolled around her, illustrating a woman on fire. And it fit her perfectly.
When she shaved her legs, it seemed as if she were speaking to them in loving whispers, "It'll only hurt a bit."
Her laughter reeked of true humor, made everyone else laugh.
Her legs were strong, her hips wide, her breasts small, her beauty full.
She would watch the world from her balcony, where her eyes would say, "It wasn't supposed to be this way."
She moved fast, but she moved gracefully, in delicious sweeps across the room.
She taught me how to deal with men.
When she was heartbroken, she spent an entire day looking up words to describe the 'asshole' in the dictionary.
My mother kissed my forehead as though it would break but she knew I was stronger than that.
My mother read me Kahlil Gibran and Oscar Wilde.
She couldn't cook but she knew food.
When she smoked, it rolled around her, illustrating a woman on fire. And it fit her perfectly.
When she shaved her legs, it seemed as if she were speaking to them in loving whispers, "It'll only hurt a bit."
Her laughter reeked of true humor, made everyone else laugh.
Her legs were strong, her hips wide, her breasts small, her beauty full.
She would watch the world from her balcony, where her eyes would say, "It wasn't supposed to be this way."
She moved fast, but she moved gracefully, in delicious sweeps across the room.
She taught me how to deal with men.
When she was heartbroken, she spent an entire day looking up words to describe the 'asshole' in the dictionary.
My mother kissed my forehead as though it would break but she knew I was stronger than that.
My mother read me Kahlil Gibran and Oscar Wilde.
kanvisxart:
That is truly one of the most beautiful and deepest expression of love and admiration I have ever had the pleasure of reading. Thank you. Your mother sounds amazing.
badronald:
This is so sweet.