June 11, 2025, Wednesday.
Eloy, Arizona.

When no one loves you, you create a person out of yourself, just like you, exactly resembling you, and you love them. You imagine that they love you too. That is you. Even that “you” leaves, doesn’t stay by your side. You always need someone who leaves. Because you like to cry from behind. You take pleasure in being sad. Suffering is a great delight.

That “you” is right there behind the curtain. You will reunite with them when you die. That is why you stand up with disappointment again every morning when you wake up. Feeling lonely in everything you do, remaining incomplete once again in every smile. It is no one that you need. Not somebody. Not someone else. In a world where no one can understand anyone, only that “you” can understand you. And that is because it is you yourself anyway.

Actually, there was someone who loved you too once upon a time. But that was a long time ago. You were a child. You could have stayed a child forever too actually, but they are gone now. Mothers do not stay by your side forever. They want to stay actually, but they cannot. No one loves as much as a mother, right? Even that “you,” even you yourself cannot love yourself that much.

Every mother is a bitch if you ask others. In the eyes of the neighbors and relatives, she is a selfish damn woman who defends her children whether they are right or wrong. But you should ask her children about her. They can swear that she is an angel whose equal and like will never exist. Mothers give birth and then they die. They leave you alone and go, even if they claim they never wanted this. One who doesn’t want to, doesn’t go. Mothers wouldn’t go if they didn’t want to.

What will these children do now. Will they be able to manage living. They will manage, of course. Everyone manages somehow, be it with a broken heart, be it with a bowed neck. Eventually, you live, you see. Sooner or later, you die, my mom.