To the most beautiful woman, from her daughter.

You are great. Full of passion. And love. And care. And more love.

All that holding true, you do the most insaaaney wicked things sometimes. You open conversations with strangers. Then go on and on about life and clothes and us and cooking and baba and health and sleep and more clothes – until the random stranger is going on and on about their life and clothes and kids. Da da da. And then you have a new friend.

You eat too much salt. Drink too much tea. I know I talk loud and fast. Sometimes you don’t listen, sometimes you can’t understand – I still don’t know how to tell the difference. You are always in your own world non-responsive to our stories (then you complain we dont tell you stuff).

You look as if you’re sitting on a vibrating chair every time you laugh. You yell from one end of the hall to the other for the most pointless of reasons. You exaggerate everything.

You don’t stick to plans. NEVER stick to plans. Your theories for chores all full of sarcastic remarks.You are capable of eating the grossest of food (brains, tongue, everything!)

You argument. Present valid reasons. But you never apologize even when you know its your fault.

You DON’T know how to bake.

You are afraid of water in lakes, and every ride above the average adventure level of the Ferris wheel. You brag about the fact that almost entire of my wardrobe is full of clothes of your choice ( I know. I have no life).

Your rings don’t fit my fingers. Your most illogical explanations always have some sort of logic.

You are soft but firm (all the time).

There. Even though we don’t get along most of the time, YOU ARE FAB.

I should have thought of all this before. Things are so much smoother with you around everywhere.

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