When I was young I would cry during thunderstorms, and run to my parent's room. I would wiggle in between my mother's and father and pull a little bit of blanket from the both of their's so I could keep warm. They didn't wake up.
When I was young, I would watch my mom every morning as she got herself ready for work. I watched her apply makeup on her face, and sculpt her hair into big, bouncy curls.
When I was young, I would watch my mother as she prepared or bed. She would wash her face, and flatten her curls, and eat what appeared to be a curious, little, red candy.
When I was young I was curious.
When I was young my parents were naive.
When I was young I had no siblings; I was the first and the only.
So, when I was young, I crawled into the sink of our kitchen bathroom, and opened the medicine cabinet. I opened the bottle that held the tiny pieces of candy my mother ate before she fell into deep sleep. I swallowed them all.
When I was young, I died.
When my parents were young, they cried at the sight of their young daughter's funeral
When my parents were young they fought.
When my parents were young they made mistakes, and blame one another
When my parents were young, they became young parents, and made a simple mistake
But when my parents were young, their minds were young. All they knew was blame and pain.
When my parents were young, they divorced, and followed dispair, and met their daughter once again.