Sometimes I think about life and begin to start to wish to hold onto my mama again. Not my mom who hides away in the garage as I do my room. But my mama. I wanna be seven again, cradled in her arms and never let go no matter how much I giggled that I was ready to be. I wanna go back and start over, live life as if I was worth living it, not waste it. I want my mommy. She still is here, she’ll be here for a while, and I’m happy about that. But it’s not the same. I wish it was. I wish I could feel the same warmth I felt hugging her years ago, smiling and laughing.
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