Dear Mamma, I miss you, Ma. Like the smothering of fingered flames rippling for air, like a lost child in a crowd, I miss you. The first pull that ever compelled me to read and write was to make you proud. Seeing you constantly read those romance novels made me want to be like you. Can’t say that I like those books, but rather I care to admit, you definitely made me a romantic. You were a relentless optimist and …
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