How many moons, years, centuries even, we’ve walked around with these grating words on our lips, even our ears seeming to refuse them. We are the hungry whose mouths have been stuffed with strange hot foods. But we dare not spit them out. And we cannot swallow them either. And mother has forgotten us, and so have we her voice, and her warm smiles, and her lullabies. Though she lives in us, she is but the sorrow in the blueness of our souls that cannot be described with words but the mist that covers our eyes.