DiamondSilvermond

My mother used to tell me stories of white daisies. How my father picked her some on their first date. She told me of the silver crusted moon and blue velvet sky. Father would dance with her in the kitchen listening to Led Zeppelin, and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. I believed that was love. After father passed in a work accident, mother went pale. She spent several hours in bed, listening to the Led Zeppelin song her and father would always dance too. I spent most of my time writing the memories of father and mother together. What they had was love. Mother passed away a year later from a broken heart. Now as I visit the cemetery o