I Heard My Own Sigh and Knew It Wasn’t About the Dishes

Dear Delyara, The plates were not that many. The sink was not that bad. The kitchen was not a disaster. And yet the sigh that came out of me sounded like it had history. That’s when I knew it wasn’t about dishes at all. It was about the whole day landing in one ordinary task at the wrong hour in the wrong body. I kept washing up after that, but more gently. Not because I felt better. Because I had heard the truth in my own sigh and didn’t want to ignore it the way I often do. Some evenings the body confesses before the mouth ever will. Mine did.