I Watched the Microwave Turn and Thought, This Can’t Be It

Dear Delyara, Leftover rice. Ninety seconds. That little plate rotating behind the dark glass while I stood there in socks and an old sweatshirt with my hair not fully dry from the shower. It was such a stupid moment for despair. And yet there it was. Not because of the food. Because I looked at myself in the reflection and thought: I am trying so hard. Why does my life still feel like one long hallway between one practical task and the next? The microwave beeped. I took the plate out. I burned my fingers because I grabbed it wrong. And that, somehow, felt exactly like the point. The outside too hot, the middle still cold. I think that is what I’ve become.