Were seated at the table, all is quiet as we still wait for one to sit.
You eat your food; what little there is.
You stand to leave, emptying the rest into the bin.
A question is asked, and an argument erupts.
He stands, and you get intimidated— shoving him away you attempt a hasty retreat.
She hops down from her perch, asking you to stop pushing.
Neither of you realize she's right below you.
I scoop her up into my arms and calmly leave— as to not frighten her even more.
I walk into the room, her in my arms and the youngest before me. I don't want her to hear you, so I turn on the radio:
Hakuna Mata
What a wonderful phrase
Hakuna Mata
Ain't no passin' craze
It means no worries
For the rest of your days
It's our problem-free philosophy
Hakuna Mata
YOU ARE READING
My Dearest
PuisiThese are personal letters written to those I've loved, letters by which by no means are ever to be read by who they are intended for. Also rant/vent in here occasionally. I don't want comments on those chapters.
