"My love, you can't save everyone. I wish you understood that," a tone of disappointment saturated with flecks of genuine sincerity that only a mother can convey.
Lighting my cigarette, I desperately tried to breathe every ounce of that sincerity in.
"And please quit smoking."
Silence. Reflection? I wasn't even listening at this point.
"Maybe my words of wisdom are falling on deaf ears," she rambled, "but your heart has always been far too large for your body. You worry me."
"Ma, smoking isn't all that bad," I muttered with an exhale, my avoidance blatantly obvious and scattered in second hand smoke throughout the room by the power of my stand up fan.
My mother sounded like a TRUTH ad, and oh how those ads rile me up.
"Fair enough.. I guess it must have been pretty exciting to see someone smash another person's head with an acoustic guitar. Call your father later, he'll love that story."
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