Author Description

My mother would cry when she thought I wasn't watching and shut her door when I made her sad. She once told me that love is selfless, not some grandiose emotion but rather, someone who packs her bags in the middle of the night and leaves with the words 'I'm sorry, I love you' on your cheek. I once believed she understood the art of love and the concept of forgiveness. I once thought I saw a reflection of myself in her: the light and the dark. She wears her heart on her sleeve and her tears burn like ash on my shoulder, but I told her, "how can the phoenix rise from the flames? How can you judge me so harshly? And now it pains me to depart with 'I'm sorry, I love her' on your cheek."