This is what I know about my parents. They spent the next several years trying to forget each other, and me.

I remember feeling that pieces of me were scattered around the world; I belonged to her, Mother Earth.

There are things in our blood that are just naturally passed down to us, whether we want to recognize them or not.

The things that come to us easily, our propensities, are carried on a deep subconscious level into our next life. There are no coincidences.

The hospital room was as cold as dead skin, the hallway crowded with lost souls and reeking of illness.

A mother isn’t the person who births you; it’s the person who rears you and shows you love.

This thing I am feeling, I’m almost certain, is the closest I’ll ever come to standing somewhere in between truth and reconciliation.