Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.
— Robert Frost
I thought to myself… in that case, I only write poetry since everything I have written was originated from an emotion. 😉
This morning, around 8:30, my husband and I had our breakfast together: he had a piece of banana bread and I had a ginger muffin. As usual, he turned the TV on, watching news. As usual, he started commenting everything he heard or saw.
“Did you notice that? This guy was telling us what his father said, and what his brother said. What about his own opinion?” he said.
I thought to myself… he definitely didn’t talk this much before. I wondered if there is a point of life that we would all become “very” talkative. So… one day I may not be able to stand myself?
“I like this host. He is honest,” he said.
I thought to myself… is it possible that he always liked to talk, but he was nice to me so he kept quiet all these years?
“I don’t understand why they use this kind of studio light. It’s not flattering anyone,” he said.
I thought to myself… am I supposed to say something? If I don’t, would he even notice? Hmm… would he be happier if his wife talks as much as he does?
“The snow will stop around 4,” he said.
I thought to myself… doesn’t he know I am watching the same TV as he does? This is on TV!
Washing dishes, I thought to myself… fifteen years ago, I would probably say to him, “Do you have to comment on everything?” Ten years ago, I would probably say, “Everyone is different, you know?” Five years ago, I would smile and quietly leave the table. And now I sat, let him talk.
We both have changed, clearly ;-).
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