You were one of the first people that I can remember telling me I was pretty.
You loved the thickness of my eyebrows and my natural hair.
You would curse me if I left the house without ironing my clothes and tell me no man would want me.
Thirty four years on and you still tell me this at least once a week, that I’m pretty. You still tell me I don’t need make up or fake hair to enhance my looks.
Thinking of this makes me cry because you have and continue to be my biggest fan. But little do you know I’m yours.
For years I felt like I was the older sister, the one who had to be strong for us all and I’m grateful that you have taken back that role. Never wavering and selfless in every way.
Till death us do part, I remember telling…
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