In the playground, laughter rings out,
I observe them,
two parents basking in the sun,
hands intertwined, smiles radiant,
while I linger on the sidelines,
the shadow of absence
etching lines on my heart.

At home, silence stretches,
a canvas marked by my mother’s fatigue,
her hands, worn yet resolute,
crafting a life in the gaps of our reality.
I learned to read her eyes,
to grasp the weight of our days,
each sigh a lesson,
each tear a testament.

I grew up too quickly,
my childhood a delicate paper boat,
adrift on turbulent...