I Wanted to Be Asked How My Day Was by Someone Who Actually Had Time

Dear Delyara, Not in passing. Not while tying shoes. Not while scrolling. Not while stirring pasta. Not while brushing teeth. Not while already halfway into the next thing. I wanted the kind of question that arrives with an empty chair beside it. “How was your day?” And then enough silence afterward for the truth to fit. Today I got four or five versions of the fast question and gave the fast answer every time. Fine. Busy. Long. Normal. You know. But lying in bed tonight, I realized what I really wanted was not conversation. It was room. Somebody with room for me. That feels so simple when I write it. In my life, it feels expensive.