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My mother's love is gravity.
It is the moon's pull on the ocean,
creating waves on the shore,
and delivering gentle soppy kisses
to the sands.

She loves to tell me about how she used to toss me up into the air as a toddler
and how, no matter how high I flew,
I would always fall back to her reaching, expectant arms. (Thank God).
Her love is what kept scientist like Newton and Galileo up at night
wondering, contemplating
about how it was possible.
Not so easily definable as:
force = mass x acceleration.

Her love is what brings comets streaking down to the earth,
bright shooting stars,
the gentle pull that brings a feather
swaying to the ground.

Without her pressure,
I would be free, weightless,
but lost with no rotation.
Left behind by my brothers,
my fellow planets.

My mother's love is infinite and unfading.
It's unaffected by my life decisions.
She cries now that we cannot be together,
but my thoughts still orbit around her,
always seem to find their ways back
to her.

The love is there unstoppable,
undefinable.
She has taught me her secrets,
her equations of love,
and with her blue-print words of wisdom,
I hope to one day tie my children to me
as she has.
As impossible to stop
as the moon's pull on the ocean,
creating waves on the shore,
and delivering gentle soppy kisses
to the sands.




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