that daughterhood feeling of wanting to blame your mother for how you turned out, wanting to be angry at her for how you’ve inherited her pain and her insecurities, but at the same time wanting to keep coming home to her, out of everyone else in the universe, because you know that if there’s anyone who might be anything like you–if there’s anyone who might even have a clue of what it’s like to be you–it could only be her. and no matter how many times you’ve hurt each other, no matter how difficult it might be to get her to truly see you, you still just want her to love you as you are, to tell you that this isn’t your fault, and to show you that she would keep letting you come home to her.
"4:26:1: cpt: conjure peoples time, on time, in time, every time, worship good timing, of all the primal forces of the universe, time is the master that rules us all, a ruthless enemy, a lifelong friend - any truly significant effort requires an investment of time / persistence / endurance, anything that happens quickly is rarely deep and lasting, it is endurance that finesse time, it is endurance that give it meaning,"
- from The Hoodoo Book of Flowers by Arthur Flowers
seluvian
