I Put My Head on the Fridge Door

Dear Delyara, The fridge was open, dinner things inside, and I leaned my forehead against the cool edge because the whole act of deciding what to cook felt like one emotional demand too many. That cold surface felt kinder than the rest of the evening for a moment. I stood there like that, eyes closed, and thought: if anybody sees me, I’ll have to laugh. They didn’t see me. So I didn’t laugh. I just stood there in the kitchen, tired enough to need comfort from an appliance. That is a very real kind of tiredness. I know it well now.