Dearest Ruth,
Diner was quiet again, the only sounds that comes and fills the silent void is a soccer game playing in the kitchen television, I ate some tacos de Cecina but the silence was making me full; and I was thinking on how we used to pass the time whenever we ate in silence.
I remember how you use to play with the kitchen utensils like toys to distract yourself from eating the food mama cooked, you hated the food she cooked, whenever you played with the utensils, mama would take them away and leaving you sulking at your now cold soup... it was lentil soup; the soup that we hated.
When our older brothers finished eating and washed their dishes, they leave you alone to mama and papa, they'll say " mija, come tu comida... ay niños que necesitan comida... y mira tu, que no quieres comer! ",
It hurt you didn't it? The way mama scolded you and made you feel guilty as simple as a slight off texture of your food;
I learned years later that our needs are different than papa and mama and our brothers and that is okay to have different needs.
As cold the lentil soup was and how tense you felt with just mama and papa in the dinner table, but when you couldn't eat the cold lentil soup anymore, they let you go run off back your shared bedroom with mama and papa, they didn't hear the quiet cries coming from you as per habit you stuff your face upon your white pillows and just hide.
If only I can hide again... so I can wake up and be you again Ruth.
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Sincerely Romona
YOU ARE READING
LETTERS TO A TALL CHILD
Non-Fiction︵‿︵‿୨♡ ♡୧‿︵‿︵ " In long nights I share with our thoughts, I keep thinking that you'll come back My tall child, In thoughts, I'll think Your smile will answer the questions The questions that chained me. " - Romona 2024 ︵‿︵‿୨♡ ♡୧‿︵‿︵ As the reade...
