Sunflowers

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I miss my mother. The world seems empty without her. Insipid,bland, tasteless. Nothing interests me as much anymore. I went to her grave yesterday, with the freshest and brightest sunflowers I could find at the central market. They didn’t quite reflect the brightness that she was, but they did serve their purpose and I was thankful to them for that. The universe had cheated me. It took away the very source of my existence, and it hurt. Terribly so.
The visit to her grave had been instinctive, but the sunflowers weren’t. Throughout my life, and in the little time that I’d watched her grow, I’d always thought her to be delicate, yet strong, unwavering, unbending. I thought her to be bright, and beautiful. I saw strength in the way she walked, with those unmistakably proud shoulders held high up. Her gait was firm, yet oh so graceful. In the face of life’s turmoils, she would dance, daintily through her problems, just like a sunflower.
These sunflowers remind me of a woman. A strong woman, a beautiful woman. A woman who was never afraid to live life, a woman who knew what it felt like to love, fiercely, and to be loved with the same intensity, a woman who knew who she was, who would accept nothing less than what she wanted, a woman who was willing to die for her faith, a woman who was murdered, gruelly for her faith. These sunflowers remind me of a woman. These sunflowers remind me of my mother, and I miss her. Terribly.

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