and the rumble of trains passing by as my mother read stories to me.
i never felt as loved as those moments snuggled on the lounge next to my mother’s warm body where i was safe. i watched her lips moving as she read; pink and gentle, they changed shape so often, and every now and then i could see the tip of her tongue. i moved my lips too, pretending that i was reading silently along with her. as she turned the page, my mother looked at me and smiled.
i smiled back but my head was feeling heavy, like it was full of cotton wool. the cushions were soft, so 