Zozo's

Love is when he drives you around town All day and all night So you can escape From the turmoil of your suffocated mind. Love is when he loves and cares for you Nevertheless— Even if you curse, Even if you point, Even if you hit him. Love is when he loves me For the monster in me. Love is when he knows me, My mind, And the demons in my mind. Love is when he writes about love— And thinks about you. Love is when he stays up all night, Waiting for me. Love is when he changes And compromises himself To adjust to me. Love is when he fixes himself up To care for me. I cannot write them all, Because it would take a lifetime. Is that not love? Love is when he works hard For our future. Love is when he sits with you When you’re too tired To scream out in pain. Love is when he looks at you With those eyes— Those eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes That crinkle slightly when he smiles— Looking so dashing, So handsome, And if I might— Beautiful. When he looks at me with those...

I look at my mom as I sit beside her. I see the parts of me that took after her. I smile like her. My eyes crinkle when I smile too—just like hers do. I look at the wrinkles around her eyes and wonder... There must have been a time when her eyes shone with youthful beauty. I see her face, her cheeks now stout and chubby with age and time. And I remember— There must have been a time when her skin was smooth and fair, Filled with vitality and elixir-like beauty. I look at my mom’s belly— Thick and big with age and time. The same belly that carried me for nine months. I know there must have been a time when her body was lean, Curvy, fit, Radiating with youthful glow. And then, I see her hands. Her wrinkled, rough hands. Her fingers still so slender and long— Womanly and beautiful. She could have been a hand model, If she wanted to, when she was young. But now… They’re rough and tanned, From working hard all her life, Taking care of a husband and three daughters. ...