the best legs in town.

I have four Valentines in my life. They will always hold a place in my heart and they will always have my unconditional love. One of them is my beautiful mum. No words are enough to describe her strength and resilience. My heart is working overtime on a “I-miss-my-parents” mode and I guess it has been like this for the last couple of months.

This morning when I woke up, I looked at my husband when he was getting out of the shower (hello handsome!). He was so introspective, and I said “A penny for your thoughts”. He didn’t listen. He was in his mind box of “nothing-nada-zero-niente” (if you haven’t read my past posts, and that is highly probable as I stink at this, our minds are made up of boxes i.e. drawers where we keep our sh*t; so as one has a knickers drawer one has a mind box for pending stuff, for stuff we like in our burgers, and the list carries on; you’ve got the picture now, I guess; if not, you’ll get there; just create a new box in your head to comprehend this box theory). On the other hand, I do not support that version of the mind boxes as my husband has. My boxes are or on zero-rotations mode (only when I am asleep) or on full-rotations-red-line mode. And when I think about my four loves, the pointer goes beyond the red line. That is how I know I have life bursting inside me and that depression is leaving the building. I love them and they are my fuel.

My mum has been through a lot of sh*t. She was just a small baby and she was already fighting for her life. How can a little human being start life fighting this? But she had her place reserved as an angel on earth. She fought and she fought and she conquered all the Everests in her way.

I am sorry for not understanding you when you went through several of Dante’s circles of Hell
I am sorry for not recognizing your strength sooner
I am sorry I wasn’t the best kid to educate and to love
I am sorry for not eating my fruit mash when you asked me to (I hate sugar apples, I just despise them)
I am sorry for not liking your improvised soup that initially was a stew but, surprise, you’ve opened the pressure cooker and now it’s a soup for dinner.
I am sorry for being so bossy that I had to call my dad (I was 4 or 5 years old when I had already figured out how to call to my dad’s personal assistant) for someone to indulge my f*cking stubborn attacks.
I am sorry I wasn’t daring enough to wear all the amazing clothes you made me in that old Singer sewing machine which oily smell I miss so much.
I am sorry I didn’t tell you everything about our honeymoon in Malawi, Zambia and Mozambique but I didn’t want you to worry even more
I am sorry I am struggling with these f*cking mind shenanigans now as I did not want you to worry so much yet again
I am sorry I wasn’t there for you and didn’t defend you against abusive people who made the most out of your generosity
I am sorry I wasn’t there to hold you and say “Everything will be alright” when you lost your mum at such a young age
I am sorry I didn’t say I love you that often
I am sorry I was part of the “Let’s prank mum” team with dad (my beautiful mum, you are so easy to fool)
I am sorry I did not hear your pieces of advice sooner
I am not sorry for being so proud of you and jealous of your legs.
I love you mum. I always will.

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