When I was little, Mamasaur would cry at commercials. Though it didn't make a lick of sense to me then, now I flood with tears even during the finale of the Great British Bake Off.
I wonder who was the original template for this inheritance. My mother or hers? Or a mother before? Did she live before television, before radio, before books?
Did she tear-drip at stars? Did her daughter watch and sigh?
Was it the sigh that sealed this to our bloodstream? Or, maybe it was that careful watching?
Aren't we always magicked when we actually see each other?
Every NanoPoblano, I make at least one attempt at my exactly-100-word posts, and with just a week of November left, I decided today was the day. These take me ages longer than my normal posts. Wordiness comes easier to me. 🙂
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