Mother.

I'm sure nature will do its thing with help from gravity. Wrinkles will cover my body from head to toe. It's just a sign of living. It's just the course of life. My mother is full of them, and oh, is she beautiful. She raised three kids. Dedicated her life to educating other peoples' kids even. And she has witnessed her (un)fair share of hell. Her wrinkles are her evidence of presence. Like carving into a tree: "I was here".

My mother has purpose. Always a plan, a wanted outcome. I was a plan to her. She wanted me and intentionally raised me by the measures that she had. She taught me how to dress and tie my shoes. She taught me right from wrong, good from bad. She taught me how to be humble without being weak. My mother taught me everything.

But everything is nothing if you don't use it correctly. Generations of genetics and intentions just wasted down the waterpipes. I don't wanna cut down the same tree that she carved in. I want to water it, plant around it, maybe even carve into it myself. I want to do that for my mother. 

I love you, mom.