If your father abused your mom

hum of the engine fills the air, accompanied by a soft breeze that tousles my hair. Today, I am Samantha, a woman overcome with sadness, observing the world p

little restaurants, perhaps embarking on promising dates filled with love and laughter. Children, adorned in halloween co

I laid my mother to rest, burying her beneath the weight of my shattered heart. Grief lingers, refusing to

ossessed even the tiniest sliver of magic, I would command the world to halt, to acknowledge my pain, and allow

faded, much like the precious memories I hold dear. I twist the cap, feeling the resistance give way. The familiar and comforting aroma danc

to the passersby. Are they watching? Are they judging me? I feel a sense of relief as no one p

gulfs me. I yearn for the world to pause, to acknowledge the vast void within me. But life c

of solace. From a distant corner, a beggar sits, strumming a guitar, his weathered hands creating a melancholi

rnal turmoil, both bitter reminders of a life now incomplete. In the quiet

estion the meaning of it all. If death can strip life of its purpose so effortlessly, then what does any of it matter? Leaning forward, I

the flames hungrily devour the pieces of paper he throws into them. I wonder why he has a stack of papers in his hand, but the d

d by time, slowly fading away until there's nothing left but fragments of a forgotten life. The words that held meaning, once carrying so much weigh

ires to make me sad. The heaviness in my chest intensifies, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Someone once

ing and humbling, reminding me that my current emotional state, as significant as it feels, is just a tiny blip in the grand scheme of things. Galaxies c

gs a glimmer of solace, a fragile thread of hope. I find myself momentarily lost in the idea o

s me back to reality. I turn my head and find the man who

such a big deal, but up close, his face is perfectly smooth, like a freshly tarred road, and his well-sculpted beard looks meticulously desi

e to say. "I just n

. "Boyfriend troubles, huh? Well, most guys in New York are douchebags any

d he laughs. "I'm sorry. I'

a girlfriend who lives in Africa. A country called Tunisia. We

re his romantic spirit. Writing poems for someone is a rare gesture in my book. The only guy who ever wr

" I repeat, hoping my tone comes across as rude but

st. I like it when girls are honest. It makes me want to push further, unless, of course, you're just toying with my f

g, "I'm sorry, but I just buried my mom. I'm in a terrible mood where I wish I

, reminds us that we're living in this painful, pathetic world together," he says, a gentle smile g

ligent lines. Maybe to ease his own pain. If it's the latter, I would understa

perfectly cooked dish, tempting and tantalizing. If

my company owns most of the houses in this neighborhood. Funny thing is, my tenants don't even know who I a

rk tugging at the corners of my mouth. "And a serious landlord sho

s a shiver down my spine. His intense gaze loc

ctance and curiosity. "I'm really not in th

ompletely," he says, leaning in closer. I take a deep bre

y, watching as h

iting for me," he says, his words dripping with anticipation. I

It's just a regular name," I c

t something tells me you're not a regular lady," h

ook. "I'm not in the mood

t you're extraordinary if you'd be willing to accompany me to a spe

your mom want you to be sad for the rest of your life?" he asks, his words piercing through my heart. "I'm sorry if that's too forward, but I bet your mom would want you

ide me. I step out of the car, my voice barely a whisper. "So, where are we going?" I ask, my curio

ing hands," I q

hand. "Yeah, al

uy, seemingly from out of nowhere, gives me a nudging glance, and I feel like if I don'

y off. But as the warm breeze carries fragments of laughter and distant sirens, painting the air with a vivid backd

es through the air, caressing my ears with a gentle melody. So, he's

d by the loss of his mother. It's about finding he

sh over me. "Is this your way of wooing every woman yo

song still lingering in the air. "Not real

der the lyrics, feeling a surge of emotions within me. My mother truly was an angel, an angel who couldn't cast away a demon. A demon named my father. Anger

to heaven and bad people go to hel

my opinion, but I'll tell you anyway. I believe that God put us in this world to find the best of His creat

ecome mistakes. That's right. My dad would fit perfectly into that description.

ts my thoughts with a question that catch

ts searching forward, gambling with what an honest answer would be. "I'm caught between uncertainty and my habit

ou. I was hoping for a one-night stand when I approached you." He gives me an in

ou taking me?" I ask, feeling

mom's necklace. I'm tempted to slap his hand away, but his fingers on my neck send a tingle th

d not expect to get hurt?" I lift my eyebrows at him,

r lasts. When people get too familiar with each other, flaws are exposed, and the excitement fades. My studies led me to believ

it wa

ea

belief. "Well, I guess

to leave me

nsion intensifies with ea

kiss. My senses reel, a conflicting mix of guilt and pleasure dancing through my veins. I shouldn't b

but the ringing continues. Keff steps back, allowing me to check, and my heart skips a beat as I read the number be

ur house,"

my focus is lost in the chaos of my thoughts. Without hesitation, I hail a cab, and while jumping in, I recall where I parked my

father's figure looms in the doorway, and a surge of rage engulfs me, threatening to consume everything in its path. But

ality holds me captive, my gaze fixed upon his form. I can't help but reflect on the haunting tales my mother shared with me, the endless torrent of abuse she endured at his

ously betrayed her, using her own hard-earned money to fund his infidelity. As she poured out her heart, tears streamed down her face, and my own tears join hers now.

h my trembling hand, I pick it up, clutch it, contemplating the satisfaction I might find in shattering i

emia

e of the entire story, befor

y family. The only guy who was ever honest with me in words, poetry and action. And the only one who had