“You know I’m not wrong. I know you. You’re the same woman who hit a boy twice her size when we were little because he stepped on my foot, the same one who stole an orange when mom said no because I cried I couldn’t have it. You are the same one who tied my sandals when I didn’t know how and the same one who gave me her shirt when mine ripped and took the blame so Mom wouldn’t be mad. This is you, every good and bad part is you, and I’m tired of you pretending to be something you are not. Regardless of how you feel, I love you for it, every single part, and so does he.”
