A Bowl of Soup

The man almost stormed out of the house when I started saying hurtful words. I almost went out for the night  just so I wouldn't have to stay with the man under one roof. The man almost hit me. I almost spat at the man's face. We looked at each other with angry eyes. The woman and the boy begged for us to stop. It was two o'clock in the morning. Only our angry screams echoed in the neighborhood.

It was like a battle. Neither side wanted to accept defeat. It ended with the man subconsciously seeking comfort, and found it in the gentle arms of the woman; while I locked myself up in the dark, grateful of the boy for being the strong knight.

There was calmness after the war. Every wounded soldier fell in silent recovery.

It's true, what they say. There's always a rainbow after the storm. Every cloud has a silver lining.

Peace came through silence, not between the noise.

...

The man prepared warm soup for me. We both still have not said much to each other. There are figurative bruises in both our faces, but there is not a trace of hate in our hearts. That's what the love of a family does.

A bowl of soup to warm the hearts that turned cold. Always been the best way to throw in the towel.

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From my previous blog. Edited. Photo taken from this page.