He says he may be leaving soon.
His eyes weigh heavy on my heart. I order my carry-out comfort food: hot and sour soup.
They say that creativity rushes in with healing memories, seeking to repair the wound of a truth, excised upon its diagnosis: an alien malignancy.
My fortune-cookie wisdom explains that we replace our God-given faces with the faces we make of our own. Continue reading “Wisdom of hot and sour soup”