![]() Dinner at 7A Chapter by kelsi :)
This is love.
The chicken that my hands clean and carve to serve, along with a vegetable the color of steamed broccoli and nothing more than that. It’s the sliced onion bringing tears, and carrots, making eyes much stronger, so they can cry at more onions. It’s paper plates, ceramic plates, any type of plate you have, really. Except for tectonic; Those aren't safe. It’s oven heat, and red velvet cake that doesn’t turn out the way you want it to. It's the scent of cinnamon, though you don't quite know where it's coming from, since cinnamon wasn't an ingredient. It's the way water boils when pasta is being cooked, and the low hum of a refrigerator. Love is the tone of an oven alarm; whatever note it may be. A flat? G sharp? It's the same. © 2019 kelsi :)Author's Note
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