Her hands are wrinkled and gnarled. There are more streaks of white than grey in what's left of her thin hair. She walks with a slight stoop, a result of too long hours spent bent over the kitchen floor.
Each day, she waits, for a glimpse of a loved one. Every day she wakes up in hope, never giving up no matter how many days pass by alone in the old age home where she spends with other people her age. People who are discarded casually after use, when looking after them becomes a burden for the children that they love more their life. She does not hold any resentment in her heart, she knows they will come.
For me, she is beauty; she is strength. She is a warrior, a mother, a grandmother. She is the universe. For me, she is love.
Linking this post to the A to Z Challenge.