A daughter’s architecture

Today almost passed me by. I woke up both hollowed and heavy — confused. It’s your birthday. I remember the hurried designs you crafted, turning me into a person. I remember cooking and sewing, combing hair and playing referee. You were an architect with vision and I was the wayward building that never fell, but despite your best efforts, leaned into its own gravity. You died so young, but I remember believing that you would not have left if…