Faint touches and whispers, like a warm cloth on your forehead. My mother rubbed my back, patting it. She sang a lullaby to me as I fell asleep. 

The tune was so calming, simply ours. No one else in our world knew that melody. 

My girl. She would call me. Her black hair would hang and her dark eyes would stare into mine as I drifted asleep. 

My favourite part was when she'd kiss my forehead before leaving my room. I love you, my girl.