Hard to reconcile...

What was true? He thought he knew, for an unmarked time of devotion spent with meticulous attention to detail, every rule in the game set to the very rules he understood best.

...Wanted.

She was opposite of what a mother should be. She was not dark as midnight; rather she shone like the moons. She even hurt differently, oh, but she hurt in much the same way.

...Unwanted.

She didn’t want him. She wanted the child that was not hers; he was not hers, and she didn’t want him.

She hates him for what he is, for what he did. And he knows. He understands. He sorrows.

For hate turns mothers into…

*Hate twists who you are; vengeance destroys what you are.*

Sending may be tainted with hate or desire, pain, happiness… or insanity. But there is only truth.

He doesn’t know what is right. But he knows who she is.

*Mother.*