if black is the color
and white, the color
I am alive somewhere
in the middle.
It’s usually just my dad, my mom, and I who sit down for dinner together, night after night.
No words are ever spoken, knowing that a conversation will eventually lead to outrage.
Words are completely avoided at dinner, we sit in silence, even keeping the chewing at a minimum.
It saddens me. Saddens me that my mom and dad can’t talk about their days to each other because neither of them care to hear the other out.
It’s a love that has been lost in the silence. A love that my dad has left with a women he met in the states, whom was of a different race. A love that my mom has left with a man she met in college, whom was too low of a caste to marry into.
But the silence is so pure in it’s own way. A silence that speaks two love stories that were not fulfilled.
I really just want a handsome, 6’2, middle eastern guy to go to prom with so he could be complimentary to my look.
Oh wait, this is real life.
my favorite eye color is your eye color and my favorite height is your height and my favorite weight is your weight my favorite hands are your hands my favorite knees are your knees
- Put your mouth on it.
Walking around my future campus today brought nothing but a smile, from ear to ear, upon my face.
It definitely felt like home.
Such a nice word.