sing me something sad, soft and delicate

When my mom was my age she had long hair. she wore leather skirts, high boots and black eyeliner. my mom was a rebel. she loved maths and couldn't write for shit but read vicente huidobro's poetry every night, hiding under the covers. she wanted to be a scientist, wanted somewhere quiet and just for her where she could do what she loved and did best. my mom gave me her first name, her crazy hair and eyes, her exploding laughter. but that's pretty much it. i was born old and she was a firecracker at nineteen, a blazing fire at twentyone. loved my dad with all her heart, the only way she knows how to do things: fully and without regrets.  Mom, i wish i could go back in time and meet you then and we'd be best friends. me, with the secret knowledge of your soul and you, the star that sets the sky alight each day for us.