“How is it possible that you don’t want a dining room for our house? I don’t understand at all.”
I stayed shut. No answer. No explanation. Nothing.
There is a story stored deep down within my soul, a trauma that I haven’t even noticed.
Half a clock rotation ago, everybody was left speechless when I threw the dining table catalogue across the room. My sincere apologies.
“My Love, all my life I’ve always hated the dining table. In my eyes, those are not just dining tables. In my house, it exists as a battle arena.”
“My Love” suddenly calmed down.
“But, My Dear, I know that you won’t let ours became a battle arena. We will make this house a home, bit by bit. I can tell that your feet is already bleeding. Aren’t you tired of running? I’m sure you’ll do great. After all, you’ve always loved eating in mine.”
“My Love” hugged me tight, that it started to feel warm. That’s odd, because I have always been cold. A hug never felt this warm. So, when I felt that warmth exists around us, under our roof, around our joining hands, touched shoulders, and smiling faces. I knew we’ve started building a home without us realising.
