She stood cold and hard, letting her weight fall against the doorframe she stood in. Coming into the room, she brought a thickness with her. It lingered just slightly behind her heels, a seriousness. Her lips were tight and drained of all color. A smile did not decorate her face often, and when it did it came out looking more like a wince - almost as thought the act itself gave her more pain than pleasure. Finding her voice she whispered: "Your daddy's gone.." and her face hardened. "Now go feed the dog." "But Mommy..." I was five. She closed her eyes then, and a single tear cut through the slit in her eyelashes. When she opened her eyes I saw her for maybe the first time in my life. They were blue pools, and she seemed to exhale into herself. I left my room then and went through the kitchen drawers, attempting to convince my mother I was feeding the dog we didn't own.Birth sign: Libra
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