#writesofiraq

[mayet-writes]

she

I also remember asking my father where she went. Why she left us.

"She went to where people like her go." He would always say.

But "she" was a different person to everyone, to the people she was an idol, a queen, a God even.

To the servants she was a story, a story that changed its plot with each new chapter. They witnessed every sentence and every word.

But to my father, she was his wife. She was his general, his right hand, his second instinct. Or so that is what he says she is.

To me she was a mother, I think.

I never really knew.