Dear mama, life is still hard

The city never sleeps-but I do, sometimes,with my open eyes. The sound of passing matatus outside my window feels like echoes of dreams I never caught. Every night, I see by the same wooden table, the one with a cracked edge and the scent of the old paper, I wrote to you, Mama. Motto send the letter- no,never. Just to breathe through words I can't say out loud. Mama, life is still hard. You remember when you used to say,"Don't make the world make you bitter,Said. Let it make you better." I repeat that line every morning like a prayer am trying to believe in. I wake before sunrise, boil water for tea and stare at my shoes- the same one I wore when my father went for cigarettes and never came back. I tell myself tomorrow is another day, most days it's worse. Employers say they'll call but the don't. Friends promise help. but they vanish when I remind them. Sometimes I walk for hours to avoid going home to silence. That silence, Mama, it's heavier than hunger. I found your old photo yesterday- the one you were wearing that yellow dera and smiling with your missing tooth. I laughed a little, them cried a lot. You looked so proud that day, I wonder if your still proud, seeing me struggling for even a packet of milk for tea. So you remember Asha? the girl that used to being you broccoli? She came last week, said she's working and offered me moolah- I refused. Pride is the only thing I own, sometimes I wished I could sell it too. Am a man! Mama, if heaven had post,I'd sent this letter tonight. I'd tell am still struggling, fighting, still breathing, still trying not to fall apart. But truth is, I'm tired. Tired of pretending am okay. Tired of smiling when am breaking. Tired of chasing dream that run faster than my hopes. Still remember your words," No storm last forever." So maybe Mama, tomorrow the sun will find me too. Until then Mama I'll keep on writing. Even if the world forgets me, I'll write to the one who never did. Your son, Said