viernes, 28 de febrero de 2014

Memories of Grandma...

Seven years have gone by, seven years without listening to her voice, her distinctive laugh, seven years without watching her emotions blossom as she told her stories, her adventures. One thing I'll always be sorry for is that she never got the oportunity to see me graduate, see me standing on stage with my cap and robe ready to get my diploma. I won't see her, but I know that in a way she'll be there cheering and feeling proud. That's all I wanted, to make her proud. I don't want to forget about her and I think we never will. I remember everything, but sometimes her face becomes blurry. I can't see her, but sometimes I get little glimpses of her; In the poem my mom knows by memory, just like she did. In the little red plants with long stems and red flowers that grew outside her house. In the pencil collection she held in her house that now lays in my closet reminding me of her every time I see it. 
Seven years went by, and seven more will go on, but the memories will lock inside our hearts forever.

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