The writings of Sunny Caane; My sweet mother

My dear friend, it should be said that I am not so much of a congenial man as I thought. Today my heart is full of disdain and bitterness, because the world as I perceived is not as it is in reality. She did strike me with a blow, one so hard and harsh that it injured my trust of her, and forever distrust her motives!

Ah, she is a serpent, the worst kind! A sweet witch, a beseeching devil. She is a terror on my life although I am no angel. All her ways are full of deception and yet I cannot look past her horizon. O for help and grace to release me from this languishing despair. I can not rise although I rise to curse her a thousand times times ten thousand times. But my words are cloudy, mingled with the salt of hatred. Perhaps I should a sleep awhile, see the light in her life and the darkness in mine; perhaps this will halt my self righteous indignation. But as I look back seeking to find a lovely stream in my dreams, all that befalls me is a tornado and hurricane of her habitual emotions, lashed upon me like the waves batter against the coast. I was a beaten rock, worn from ever side, yet I maintained a smile a sweet outward appearance, bearing with her, covering her with love and patience.

But it is futile. My once lovely Mother, who kissed me as a child ruined my manhood. But the blame will never rest on her as far as I am concerned. I will keep forgiven until this anger is removed from me by the sweet embrace of eternal death. I wish to forget her like a lost age, erased from the memory of humanity! But I can not. She is my mother, the stone and the flesh in my heart!

Write soon Sunny Caane - her condition is deteriorating. Pray the heavens for mercy - it is still my duty to care.

With all the love in this world
Reema

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