#anya...

[kisertenek-a-hazugsagaid]

Kedves, anya... Attól még, hogy üvöltözöl velem a cigi miatt nem fogom abbahagyni a dohányzást. Te még abba kicsit sem gondoltál bele, hogy nem jó kedvemben szívom? Igen tudom róla, hogy káros, de nem érdekel. Rád meg nem tartozik, hogyan teszem tönkre az életemet. Te sokkal többet ártottál már nekem, mint az eddig elszívott cigarettáim összesen..

[froggyflan]

Taking Requests for Rhack art

This will blow up in my face but I got nothing else going for me and I’m desperate. 

I’ll take whatever sparks.

[magnetisedcatharsis]

Anya, I don't even know where to begin with this. Matka always told me we don't speak of the dead. She told me that it was bad luck and a gateway to unwanted attentions from sinister powers not of this world. I think she would've made an exception for you. I can't fathom speaking or thinking of you ever bringing anything other than joy. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. You were the rainbow in the middle of a downpour, the sun that came after a lifetime of snow. You were my angel, and I guess…now that's perhaps a little more literal than I'd like to admit. I'm sorry I failed you the way I did. I'm sorry that I ever left to go across the street to the grocer to fetch something for supper. I should've taken you with me. I should've insisted. Maybe if I had, you'd be here beside me now. Or maybe even pulling faces at my sentimentality and sensitivity to thinks that were rooted in the past. Sometimes I wonder what you'd look like now, full grown and matured - an adult in the prime of her life. I wonder if you'd look like me or perhaps more like your father. Maybe you'd be somewhere in the middle, the link that joins us both. I know you'd beautiful and I know you'd bring joy to a world that is sorely deprived of it now. But God needed you more. Maybe he got lonely up there, and needed a little girl to come and sit on a plush white cloud and tell him jokes about pixies and stories about all the adventures you'd imagined in your head. I like to think of some of the ones you used to tell me, especially when it's stormy. They're precious fragments of you that I don't ever want to let go of. I can't bring myself to forget, or to erase such creativity and exuberance. I miss you, mój mały gołąb. I miss you so much it hurts. But I guess I'll just have to cling to the old proverbs and hope they hold true - We only part to meet again. Dać wieczne odpoczywanie. - Matka x