HISTORIAS DEL BARRIO english Historias del barrio ENGLISH | Page 28

I left that room without knowing that
I would never be the same again.
Without knowing why an emptiness had grown
inside of me, and what to do with it.
Without knowing where that urge to cry
came from.
I would know years later, after
failing in each and every one of
the relationships that I was to have.
I would know then that an absent mother
is an absent mother.
And that you can’t look for her in every
woman you meet.
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