伊姆兰
𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚
₂⁹  ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ
在这里，一切都疼。

Every memory about my mother is fond memory.

My mom died four year ago. Somehow I’ve made it 1460 days without hearing her voice or really seen her smiling, freckled, bright brown eyed face. Grief is a black hole, endless and vast. Sucking you dry of any emotional reserve you might think you have. In the past years I have felt trapped, alone, and helpless more times than I ever thought I would in my entire lifetime. I am drowning in grief, unable to see a light out. So, I fake it. I’ve plastered a smile to my face, I always have the loudest laugh, and I mention her — but never obsessively. When my mother died, I lost a chunk of my heart. I do not think I will ever get it back. Your mother is your home. She gave you life. Unsurprisingly, life isn’t the same without her.

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