The one you run to, not for advice, but for solace.

The one who will never tell you that she knows better than you, because she always believed in your own wisdom.

The one who, before you were a fetus, loved you.

The one who patiently watched you making mistakes without losing faith in you for a second.

Mother who is within you and for you.

She is in a tree, a stone, a worm.

Her presence does not let you stop believing that you deserve more. She doesn’t make a sound, she patiently watches and is there, and her mere presence stings and pinches. Because sometimes it’s uncomfortable to feel that there’s something inside to discover. It is inconvenient to discover when there is no faith that the discovery might be wonderful, magical.

She always has open arms. Just accept the invitation. She doesn’t preach, but she opens the space of love. A space that sometimes you have to learn to enter.

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