14/02/2025
There’s a strange poetry in losing a mother on the day the world celebrates love—a bittersweet symmetry that I never asked for but have come to accept.
It was a February morning bathed in soft light, the kind that promises spring but still carries the bite of winter. I remember the stillness in the air, as if the universe itself was holding its breath, knowing that something sacred was about to slip away.
On that day, love transformed for me. It was no longer wrapped in grand gestures or fleeting moments of passion. It became something deeper, heavier, profound.
Losing a mother is like losing the sun—warmth that once felt endless suddenly vanishes. And yet, even in the darkest moments, her light remains, reflected in everything she touched: the strength in my voice, the kindness in my hands, the resilience she taught me without ever needing words.
This day, once filled with chocolates and flowers, became a day of reflection and renewal. A reminder that love is not something we lose—it only changes form.
So, every year on this day, I honor her in the only way I know how—by loving fiercely and without hesitation.
