Things We Forget

My cousin and I used to build forts in the backyard; now we build careers, but we’re still architects of dreams.

My father still checks on me like it’s his job.

My mom’s laughter makes even the heaviest days feel lighter.

My aunt believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.

My grandpa’s stories are stitched into who I am. My favorite is when he and my grandma were in another country, traveling. My grandma was ill, so my grandpa went…

My siblings and I have fought like rivals but loved like best friends.

My mom is my safe place — no matter how old I get, her presence equals home.

My mother loves like the tide — always returning, always sure.

My cousin leaves glitter in every goodbye, just to make sure you miss her.