Her hair is as dark as a raven’s wing, ripple down to her shoulders like a waterfall. Her skin the color beige, like the dunes of the Sahara, flawlessly smooth before the rippling winds. Never is she loud; her low-keyed silky voice flows from her like a warm breeze against the skin, chasing away any chill and enclosing the listener with security with every word spoken. She is a wonderful person whom I admire and love unconditionally forever.
A face that resembles my own in many ways. The small, straight nose is the same model I was born with. On her full lips there is always the same wide grin and the down curving "smile lines" that appear. However, the thing I love on my mother are her eyes. They are exact duplicates of my own large, dark brown ones, full of courage and strength hid behind the dark chocolate pool. Her brows are plucked into thin lines, which are like two pencil strokes added to highlight those fine, luminous eyes. Her soul is pure, happy, and whole, no arrogance in midst of all the goodness. Her beautiful face, her beautiful mind makes her who she is.
I have a great relationship with my mother, something many girls, my age, are lacking. In some ways it’s like growing up together, best friends. She has always provided the loving, but strict mother figure, which I can rely on, in my life. Her creativity brought me lots of fun times and cherished memories through out my childhood. Her strong words and lectures, many she has learned from her past, bring me wisdom and guidance for the rest of my life. And her open and loving heart gives me a safe place to share my emotions. I never could ask for a better person to spend my memories with, for they wouldn’t be the memories they are without her.