All my life, baby, the only thing I ever want to do is run away. What kind of mama is that? I wish I could feel other things, baby. Like excitement that you’re with me now or faith that I’ll be a good mama, even if my life ain’t such a good place and the world as I see it ain’t so pretty like they’d have you believe in this book. Anyway, I’m writing this letter to you. It sounds more like a letter to me, don’t it? Love, Mama.