I wished she’d been my birth mum.
I think we would be good friends whether any maternal/daughter thing happened.
That’s what I hoped with my natural mum but it wasn’t to be.
She’s restrained, I’m blunt.
She hides things from others, I am what you see.
She doesn’t read…I do, copiously.
She doesn’t care about politics. I do
She does charitable services but condemns the lifestyle of the suffering. But by the grace of ‘something-a-rather’ go I.
Ultimately, she didn’t like me and I was put off by her restraint and social niceties that didn’t represent truth at the end of the day. But I got it. Sadly.
The natural mum’s best friend is different.
And I can’t say it to her
But I wish she’d been my mum as pathetic as that sounds from a 57-year-old because we would have been good friends I think.
But I cant say it to her.
So I’m saying it to Word Press
I’m not unhappy. Just…thinking, momentarily about something that’s a bit weighty…and writing through the process.