Sunday, October 18, 2009

Lorna Morgan Blog Spot

My mother died, finally

Finally you're dead. I'm not happy because every death brings always in awe of me but I was expecting this for a long time. Now I'm free, free from a bond that weighed on me. I did not come to see you at the hospital, not even come to your funeral. And I say to avoid misunderstandings. I did not want to see you. I did not feel to be part of you.
Since I've seen in a long time, I could not help but see what you looked like, how many genes I got from you. When I look into your eyes I saw myself reflected, and I could not stand it. 'Cause with you I did not want anything to do.
I was sad to think that you had created with ineptitude, somewhere, somehow. At home, not even in a hospital. I probably suffered from cerebral anoxia as well as not so intelligent.
The same look that I did not like, small eyes, round. No, I refused to even belong to you. I let you die in peace, without me even though I had expressed a wish to your mind before I saw you leave with only a body eroded by the cancer and hypertension. I do not know what you died, I do not want to know.
My brother called me. Duty. Duty to what? Duty of law? When I now I no longer have a connection even bureaucratic. Tomorrow at Valganna, I'll be there, I was not even pave the way and took me. No. That's it, simple.
'm free at last from the pain that I have procured from your follies for which recently wept bitterly. No, my life was dependent on you and this just can not tolerate it. Your inability to pay and I absolutely had to because ... I always wondered at times of absolute despair.
Even with an effort of pride I could not get up straight, hanging over me all of your genes of women in the south, unable to live and keep churning out offspring like bread.
remember the physical pain and moral, I have a vague perception, fortunately, a mad rush at the club, with some broken bones, you gave me a liar when the near or who he was, gave me a box of chocolates; and the severed head of a chicken coming out of it and ragrumato purple blood.
You are dead last without me. At least that I could not accept. No they are not insensitive, I will not go to the bastard who does not go down to a gesture of mercy. But I challenge anyone to put themselves in my shoes and feel the chains of a troubled relationship to litter that was rotten.
Maybe, yes, I'll take a bunch of flowers on your grave, but not now. Let your body rot before some remnant of the gene could still bind me to you.
these thoughts I wrote them because no one accuse me of cowardice, or otherwise. These words are a warning to all public.
Ave at this applies

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