The two things that I love most in the entire world were taken away from me. They were parts of my heart. When they were gone, so was a little part of me. Without them, I felt incomplete. I cried when the first one was taken away. I was twelve at the time, yet I was crying like a baby. Once we came home that day, I ran into my room and curled up in a ball while looking at pictures of her. My mother. About three months before we got the news, after the divorce with my father she cried. She cried her heart out. She carried a handkerchief with her and it was always wet, but no matter what, every night when she tucked me into bed as if she were a record skipping on a record player, in her soft, soothing voice she whispered that everything was going to be alright. She soon recovered from that incident, but she never remarried again. I guess she still loved him after all he did to her. I still see my dad on weekends and we love to play soccer together. I'm not a huge sports fan. I'd rather be at home drawing, but soccer calls my name. I know, running around a grassy field with lines on it and kicking a black-and-white ball sounds stupid, but with my dad, that's a whole new story. My mother clings to me way more now, and I'm fine with it. I understand. I'm all she's got. Life is like a roller coaster. One minute you can be having the time of your life. The next minute you can be stuck on the tracks. Like how I've been stuck on this roller coaster for a while now, only hoping that the future will get better.
