I think I am flawed that way.
The other day, my day began with an overwhelming feeling of how dearly I love you.
In my mind, I wrote you love letters and made them into paper planes. You smiled when they reached you.
I spent the whole day gushing over what it would be like to hold your hand when you come back home, to caress your tired feet and balm your head. I spent the day Googling the best recipe for Honey Ginger Tofu, your favorite.
That evening you came home, eyes heavy with fatigue. You didn’t find the Honey Ginger Tofu any special. You were tired; so that’s okay.
We discussed how your ex-classmate ditched you for lunch, the meeting that didn’t go well. You talked about how a female colleague laughed the loudest at your joke. (The joke was so-so). I laughed harder. I laughed the best.
We talked if I watered the plants; and if I put them out into the Sun for two hours. I did, Sir.
You slept snoring while I stared into the blank, telling myself how my day went; how Sushma Aunty from the next door loved the pickle I prepared. I told myself how bravely I killed the cockroach I discovered while mopping the floor.
Then I slipped into a deep sleep, content.
The next day, my day began with an overwhelming disgust. I didn’t smile while seeing you off.
I prepared my favorite Sesame Chicken. There were leftovers. So, I didn’t exhaust myself and we had them for dinner too.
That day, our conversation revolved around the embossed bowls I brought from the new shop at Alam market. I told you about my plans to visit my friend who lived almost 3 hours away.
You yawned twice within half an hour. That day, we went to bed early. I was tired from working on the new tablecloth all day and dozed off early.
You probably fidgeted for a while after I slept, staring into the blank.