A mother's love, or a father's love, is complex.
It cannot be threatened to or coaxed into submission, utterance, performance.
It can be interrupted, dispersed by the sighs, the pauses, the silences, the in-betweens.
Although not constant or obsessive or unwavering as sometimes books or movies make it out to be, as long as it survives the passage of time and the expansion of space, as long as some of the memories that matter are intact, as long as the invisible bonds hold true, then it may hold true.
With forgiveness, compassion, kindness, the capacity to forget the non-essential, as long as the heart is not hardened, it is there, could be there, without water or sunlight. Ready to be revived. Over and over again.
Because it is the root of all things, the truth that hides behind the clouds of the emotions and the sometimes hurtful and awful utterances.
We - all of us - are here because of it. Always yearning, always hoping. Hoping to forgive and be forgiven.
A solitary soul, cleaved, wanting to go home.