I am my mother’s daughter. I know this not because we share curly hair or are both short, but because the day after she left me in Alabama to go back home we both sent each other the same text.

“I’m moving to you.”

I’m moving to wherever I can be close to you, because I miss you. I feel alone now that you are gone. I hate that I won’t get to see you for a long time. I cried when you had to leave. I breathed in the clothes you brought me because they smelled like you and home. I physically ache because you are gone.

I am now counting down the days until I can see you again.