I hope I get to be with you in Heaven, he says from the backseat.
We are driving to church and I am lost in my thoughts as his little four year old voice pierces through the depths of it all.
I had woken up to gaze a monster in the mirror--a reflection of myself which I hate. It was just one of those mornings. You know the ones. Where your hair won't curl just right and you have that pimple jutting out like a mountain and you don't remember it until you're in the middle of conversation and you realize she is staring at it. One of those mornings where all the blush in the world couldn't cover up the hurt, the insecurity, the pride, the fat, the failure that you just can't bear up under anymore.
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