You tilted your head a bit, trying to see the living room from your position before stepping out of the place where laughter and arguments were made. Baked in the oven is not your favorite cinnamon apple pie, but the stale sourdough you wished you saved.
You didn't even notice the television running because you rushed into the kitchen. Hoping to see someone cooking for you there?
Out of habit, you looked for your favorite channel even with the knowledge that stations are already resting. You clicked the same number again and again and the screen didn't change. You are always like this. Always hoping for a change from doing the same thing.
You flopped yourself on the sofa. Exhausted from the day's longing and night's grief, but your body won't allow you to fall asleep.
Instead, you followed the instinct of going upstairs. You ascending on the stairs figure a usual event, but a memory fazed by time.
Until you finally stepped onto the balcony.
A table is set with extinguished candles, empty plates, cold meal, and utensils left for too long to be used again.
You sat down, with the same yearning comfort now. You are craving a warm and soothing course.
Maybe because the apology you never received is the dinner left untouched.
Tags:
Literary