there are certain touches that a man places on a woman that leaves her bruised forever.

internally. eternally.

i saw it in my grandmother,

that night at an airport departure terminal, as he places his hand on hers, and just held it… the last time they both knew they’d ever touch. Fifty seven years: alcoholism and cancer didn't tear them apart, but la patria did.

i saw it in my mother,

as my father placed his hand on her back. softly, gently, apologetically…. for everything his infidelity abruptly and unapologetically took from her.

i was too young then, and perhaps, i still am.... to truly understand the depth, and the profoundness, of it all.

and, maybe, I never will, until I’m touched like that.

-our mother’s teach us to not depend on men because their’s let them down. Our father’s try to give us the love and support they never provided to our mothers, so that we’ll never seek the love or need to depend on men like them.