The Broken English

Dear Delyara, I sorry my English is not good. But my heart is heavy and it speak same language as everyone. I come to this country for better life, but I find only cold streets and people who not look at my eyes. I feel like ghost. Back home, I am somebody. Here, I am just a number in a line. Tonight I write to my mother who pass away last year. I tell her I am okay, but I am lying. I am lonely. Writing here make me feel like someone listen. Maybe someone read this and think of me for one second. That is enough. I not ghost tonight.