the different point of view
The wife who married her biology teacher from high school seven years ago made a mistake. A grave mistake which took her marriage to shambles. She had an affair with a carpenter. The carpenter was tall, handsome, everything she ever needed. When she was having a bad day, she would go to him for comfort. However, one day her husband found out about her affair through a anonymously sent photo of the both of them. He was furious, it was like the devil suddenly possessed him, he started to beat the carpenter up, throw things and break them, slap his wife and go crazy.
However, they both had different points of views. The Husband, whose whole life collapsed in one day. The wife's point of view, who made one mistake and feel it's unfair that her husband was unable to forgive her.
The wife said," I like being with you but I like being with him too. I like seeing you smile when you eat what I cooked, I like seeing you read and write. I like it when I'm with you but I like it when I'm with him too. He's always alone, plays alone, eats alone. You tell me, tell me, how is it possible that I can like two people at a time." She wants to lose neither of them.
who am i (exactly) ?
it's 11 pm, the usual time I get into bed.
but why, why today, I feel different.
it's 11:10pm, the usual time I fall asleep.
but why, why today I struggle to.
it's 11:30pm, I'm awake and thinking.
but what do I think about.
it's 11:31pm, I'm thinking about me.
but what part of me.
it's 11:34pm, I'm thinking about what I want to be in the future, my dreams, my aspirations.
but I don't really know what I want to do.
it's 11:40pm, I still haven't made up my mind but I know I'm going to have to, one day.
it's 11:43pm, I'm still awake and thinking of other things to think about.
but I have to sleep, I know it.
it's 11:45pm, who am I ? Am I nice ? Am I secretly evil ? Am I happy ? Do I like that boy ?
but I don't know. I know nothing about me.
Who exactly am I ?
Love in the kitchen
Your love is like the knife placed at the corner of the kitchen. Ready to stab and hurt my heart, make me bleed and feel pain.
Your love is like an onion. The more I peel and understand you, the more it makes me cry.
Your love is like stove. It burns with passion only when I turn it on, only when I feed it flames.
Your love is like a snack placed on a high shelve. I jumped and thought I reached you, but no, you slipped past.
Your love is in my kitchen.
