M.O.M.M.Y.

M — May you always stay imperfectly perfect. Loving me and you in equal measure. Minding the path you carved in your dreams that sprung into my reality.

O — Overcast skies dipped into the doorway of your pain. I rushed in with bundles of joy — which you received even as you clutched the hymn of your sighs in recognition of your methodical sorrow.

M — Making allowances for the required celebrations as you doled out preferential treatment as evidence of future endowment. Gorgeously ready to play the role you bore into existence — I remember twirling on cue to catch your smile.

M — Mine was the fortune of golden moments captured in a Kodak moment with loving filters. You always looked better than us but now the skylight bows to the red lips and black tresses falling in a carved frame around the face that remains just as committed.

Y — Yes, I will always love you. Even through my good times and your bad. Even when there is no surface deep enough to capture our terrain of confusion and guilt. Even when you slyly accommodate the emptiness in my gaze when I say.

I love you. I do.