sometimes just closes in on you. Without warning. Like a silver blade cutting s.l.o.w.l.y but surely into your skin. Gouging, bloody pain. Sometimes all it takes is something as simple as someone wearing a saree similar to yours, Amma. Or Harshitha’s lips, which twitch *exactly* the same way yours did… I know you’re out there, happy, somewhere, but I wish I had someone who loves me as unconditionally and as biasedly as you did. Biased because you thought I wasn’t fat, ever. Because I was never wrong. I never could be wrong. You knew not to say “I told you so.” You knew when to hold back, when to let go, and when to hold me. Missing you is a habit now. I still forget that you’re not around. I still have so much to say. So much to share. I hope I meet you up there someday.