My first memory is of a pink dress, on my mothers closet. My mother's upset. My little sister in her arms. My mother throws the dress. My grandmother catches it. My mother's mother with her blue eyes and black hair.
The most beautiful woman in the world, according to my mother.
If you ask me, my mother will always be the most beautiful woman in the world, with her high neck, her smile, her brown green eyes, with her beautiful long hands.
My mother's line of beauty runs deep in all mothers in my family, for their daughters and sons. And all of them, one day or another threw away a pink dress.
Not all pink dresses suit woman in my family.
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