Be it rainy, bright, or refreshing;
God will touch your hair and you'll think that your mother will be the cruelest woman you'll ever have the misfortune of knowing, and she will be so, so difficult to love.
But you'll love her anyway, because you see in her everything. And God will laugh at this because you think you see something, when in reality, you won't know if you see in her what she could have been or your own future.
Then everything will become clouded and conflicted. But you'll still love her.
And in the midst of this love, you'll peek into her past and see her regrets and bad choices, and in some sort of foolish way, you'll want to save her, to make her proud, to smile for her and to be her. But you'll also want to run away from her. Every single day.
You won't survive a day without her.
You want to kill her sometimes (because itโs either her or you, and you think too much about whether it's worth being yourself just so your mother can be free. You still love her, and because of that, the simple thought of her dying will make it impossible for you to breathe.)
You will savor the way her cruel words dig their fingers into the warm crevices of your heart, how they tear open every wound and bleed, how they fall like a sort of offering so that she will come and stay close to you and give you a kiss on the forehead to heal those wounds that she herself caused, because you are so, so afraid of the day she calls you for coffee for the last time. And no matter how much you hate her voice, you don't know how you'll handle the silence.
You'll love her more than any man, than any dream or vocation; she will be like a ghost in the corner of your room and she can shine brighter than a gold wedding ring.
She is worth it. It will kill you one day.
You'll never want it any other way.
And God will be waiting to touch your hair again on another day.