Anais Nin's mother dies. The pain of irrevocable loss. The torment of regrets and guilt. The feeling that part of you has died with them.
You never know that when you see someone, it could be for the last time.
Did you love them enough? Will you still feel their disapproval of your life, independent from theirs, your life of freedom? Why weren't you able to get closer to them? What images of them will you preserve?
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