I Smelled Burnt Toast and Felt Like Crying

Dear Delyara, I had turned away for one minute — to answer a question, check a message, and sign a school slip — and when I turned back, the toast had blackened just enough to make the whole kitchen smell sharp and defeated. I stood there with the plate in my hand and felt the kind of sadness that makes no sense if you only look at the surface. But I know now that tired women rarely cry over toast. We cry over accumulation. The toast is just the object nearest the feeling. I made another round. I didn’t mention it. Still, my chest carried the moment for much longer than breakfast did.