When she gets serious, she softens her voice so much that I can’t hear her.
Her texts are barely readable when she is stressed.
She has no concept of time.
She forgets whole conversations and events.
She creates boundaries, then breaks her own rules.
When I get closer, she pushes me away. When I withdraw, she clings.
Sometimes her beliefs seem absurd.
And her scars run so deep, a kid’s movie can even randomly trigger her into her trauma.
She’s paranoid and trusting. She’s skeptical and naive.
She’s a protective mother, except when she completely forgets to watch her kids.
Her moods can change a dozen times in an hour.
But she gets me. And I love her still. All her beautiful blemishes.
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