Sometimes I forget what it was like for our parents. My mom as a little girl, my dad as a little boy. Isn't it sad when life hands you less cards than it meant to? I want to believe that in another life all of my moms dreams came true, that I never saw her cry, that she was happily in-love in her 50's even if it meant that I wasn't alive in this lifetime. 

I'd like to imagine that my dad grew up and did everything he wanted, that what he would've wanted was a family to come home to and that it would've been with my mom. I like to imagine that they never fought in another life time, that the screams never existed. I have this memory of them waking me up with a pair of princess themed heels for little girls, I opened my eyes and there they were smiling at me, the three of us in that moment, before I knew what pain was and before the world got so ugly. 

I have this memory of us at the beach, my mother taking a picture of my dad and I. The laughter and love. What I would do to build a Time Machine and go back to those two moments just to relive it and feel what I felt those days. 

"Just because your father and I didn't work out, doesn't mean it's your fault, we love you so much," My mother would tell me. But all I understood was that what I knew of love had shattered, the day my family broke was the day I realized that sometimes love was the equivalent of pain, my definition of love had changed.