The older I get the harder I miss my mother.
I just want her to live up the road where I can pop in and smell her clean house, have a cup of tea and maybe dump the children for few hours.

I want to feel like there’s a place for me other than the one that I have to clean, cook, maintain, feed, study, work and be in a constant rush. I want to feed from her peaceful life, silent conversations. I want her to hug my children when I’m in my utmost frenzy with them. I want to be there when she’s unwell, when she’s sad, when she’s worried. I won’t be. She won’t be either.

Few snaps from mum’s home in our little village…


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