You're paved in my heart like an old road. Like the pebbles in a pebble field, dirt in dirt, dust in dust, cobwebs in cobwebs.

You realize that you habitually thought of Mom when something in your life was not going well, because when you thought of her it was as though something got back on track, and you felt re-energized.

How far back does one's memory of someone go?

You're paved in my heart like an old road. Like the pebbles in a pebble field, dirt in dirt, dust in dust, cobwebs in cobwebs.

I had no way of knowing where it began or where it ended. Only that it flowed without restraint.

Either a mother and daughter know each other very well or they are strangers.

If you only do what you like, who's going to do what you don't like?