Every summer my Mother and I talk about the little things like little people in a little town. Talking less and debating more, but hearing out each other nevertheless. Today I have a million and one thing to tell her and, God forbid, all hell will break loose.
I’ll be graduating in a month, after I turn 21 first and nothing tastes of independence more than telling her about the intricacies of certain things in my life. You’d think it’s easy because they say the truth will set you free, but it also shatters one into a million little pieces.
I’m not afraid about her reaction and the multiple coaxing to change my mind thereafter. I’m only very afraid that she will fail to see him the way I do. And the view from up here is breath-taking. Touch-wood.
I hate keeping secrets, especially mine.