All Our Wrong Todays

by Elan Mastai

She was your mother and she loved you in a way nobody ever has and nobody ever will

I remember, as a kid, when I first understood that only half of every tree is visible, that the roots in the soil are equal to the branches in the sky, that a whole other half is underground. It took me a lot longer, well into adulthood, to realize people are like that too.

She birthed me. Half of me is made of her. She was shaping my consciousness before I was a self-aware entity. Whatever her faults, she was a warm place no matter how cold a day might be.