He couldn't remember his mother well.
He couldn't remember the color of her hair.
He couldn't remember her voice.
He couldn't remember how tall she was.
He couldn't remember if she sang him lullabies.
He couldn't remember if she tucked him to bed.
But he remembered her eyes, sky blue with terror and shock and love.
What he remember haunted him.
And while he didn't remember much, he did know one thing.
"You are not my mother."