to my mother,
who somehow thinks i do not know that she sneaks into my room when i am away, stealing glances at my work that i would never show her willingly.
to my mother,
who leaves small hearts drawn on every page, and snacks on my notebooks when my nights have been long.
to my mother,
who does not think that i know she knows, but knows all the same.
-to my mother
-e.
