fragments of maternal love

Cried night after night,

hunger for love etched in my bones—

wanting to feel loved like a daughter,

a primal ache deeper than words.

After falling out with my ex-bestfriend,

I discovered something unexpected:

I missed her mother more than her.

She had shown me the landscape of maternal love—

a terrain I had known only in fragments.

My heart: not just broken, but shattered.

Losing a mother. Again.

Each time feeling like a portion of myself

dissolves into inexplicable grief.

I seek refuge in a friend's house,

a temporary detox for my fractured spirit.

Hoping to quiet the storms inside.

And then—her mother.

Someone I've known, and yet never truly seen,

suddenly transforms.

Treating me with that indefinable warmth

that whispers: you belong here.

After a simple gesture of kindness,

she casually remarks:

"Don't thank me. You're my daughter—

just like Rawya and Yara."

A single sentence.

Capable of stopping tears mid-fall.

Am I a daughter?

The word settles like warm sunlight,

filling every hollow space

I had been trying to hide.