I Sat in the Car Outside the House for Three Minutes

Dear Delyara, I know I’ve written about cars before, but this was different in feeling. This was not delay. Not avoidance. Not sadness. Just ownership. I had arrived home. The shopping was in the back. The house was waiting. The next version of me — mother, dinner-maker, finder, responder — was already standing by the front door in invisible form. And still, I stayed. Three minutes. No phone. No music. No pretending. Just one small complete possession of time before the evening began taking from me again. What moved me was how quickly the body recognised it as medicine. I think when a woman has spent too long being interrupted, even very brief uninterrupted time can feel like identity returning. That is what those three minutes were. Not wasted time. Me, briefly, with no audience and no demand.