Mother,
Why in the age of camera rolls would you snap a picture of me with snot dripping down my nose?
Why would you let me run off wild in to the estate behind our house when you knew monkeys would bite little kids?
Why did you let me collect hailstones, bird poop, worm heads, and butterfly wings?
Thank you for letting me discover these things, for my memory is unique now, separate from the collective memory of cartoon network characters of my friends.
Love is letting me jump from a wall, scared of a dog chasing me. Love is you massaging my hurt leg with hot oil.
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