I Wanted to Cry Over the Laundry

Dear Delyara, I was folding tiny socks and school shirts and one of my own tops, and suddenly I felt this terrible sadness about how many years of my life have been spent handling everyone with my hands before I ever get to handle myself with any real care. It was such an ordinary scene. Basket. Bed. Fold, stack, smooth, repeat. And right there in the middle of it, I had the thought: I am so tired of proving love through repetition. That thought broke my heart a little.