I miss you every day,
I think about you daily.
It upsets me to know so many people without someone like you in their lives,
I love you so much.
I imagine us walking down the street,
seating in a coffee shop while you ask me why the coffee here is so strong;
you wonder why people don’t dress any better
and you can’t understand why there are so many immigrants and nobody seems to be able to speak French.
I wish you were here.
I don’t have that magic and happy memory of us, together;
I would be lying if I say otherwise.
But I clearly remember that I could recognize the sound of your footsteps meters before you came into the door;
I know for sure that the best part of my day used to be when you were back from work, at night.
Because thanks to you and my abue, I never felt sad or lonely when I was a kid.
Because I know how hard you worked and how much you sacrificed so I could have my uniform and new shoes ready for school, and always a happy Christmas: always.
It deeply bothers me when people don’t love their moms the way I love you;
I feel they don’t value and respect their mothers enough, yet I know not everybody is as lucky as I am.
I want you to be here, so I can rub on people’s face how perfect you are (I know it sounds harsh, but I really want to do it. I think we’ve done this unintentionally in Mexico, haven’t we?)
I want to show people how perfectly we get along, how close and together we’ve always been.
I miss you every day, and sometimes, at night
I just want you to be with me.