Splitting a Pomegranate in the Quiet Kitchen

Dear Delyara, We spent two full hours tonight sitting at the kitchen table with a single, massive pomegranate I brought home from the market down the road. We didn't turn on the television, we didn't check our phones, and we didn't discuss our property mortgages or our career deadlines. We just sat there together in the quiet, splitting the tough pink skin with our fingers, digging out the deep red seeds, and talking about the summers we spent by the sea when we were children. The cold, analytical distance that usually grows between two people after a long week of mechanical work completely dissolved over a bowl of fruit. We were just two humans sharing a room.