Saving Grace

I remember all the times I fell when I was young, after which I cried for a hug and my mother gave me one. How she cradled me like a newborn child and rocked me to sleep; how her voice was a bedtime lullaby. Now that I’m older, the only one singing me to sleep is the cold mouth of a bottle against my lips. I guess growing up have taught me that I was wrong about thinking how people could be my saving grace, because the only one who can fix myself is me.

– a.h.

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