"When I was with you---that is, when you were just a small thing inside of me, part of me in a way that you are not now--because now you are cruel to me, because you never listen to me and claim your miniscule independance----when I was with you, your father never bought me roses. Not even at my wedding because he said they were too expensive. Can you imagine? I was with you
and your father's friend came by with a bunch of dark red roses in a fog of small white blossoms. I wanted my picture taken with them. With you inside, the flowers outside.

I was so lonely all those years abroad--I hated England--I don't mind it here. Your father never spoke to me. I would turn all the lights in the house at night until he arrived. I was frightened. I even bought a stuffed bear that bleated. After you were born, I would sit in the dark at night, holding you and crying. I had nothing but you. All my friends were too far away to call. You were my handful of snow. My handful of snow, that is what I would repeat to myself. Now you are no longer within me, you hold me far away from you. You resent me because I love you."

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