My mother loved me.
Two words were not said ever in presence of me or others. A sought after feeling I can't claim to have known but, on my own, sought for my own. I've seen it from those who claimed love for pity of what they thought I needed. They've achieved it. A pat on the back, a smudge of the hair. Elated, their face, I saw as I stare. On my own, I have not seen that here. Words to chase, two, but never heard. "I'm Proud", not so renowned. I have never heard the sound. You've stuck to the ground, loud but never around. Am I proud?
I read stories for fun and professionally. If you ever want a beta reader who tells the truth (nicely), I’m here.