I wanted to make this story short in a poem style, but as I write it got longer and out of structure.
At this point, I don't care, but still I'd like to call it a poem anyway. Because I feel like writing a poem.
My husband asked me on our way to his office, "You look so mad at something. What's wrong?"
I answered as if I got an electric shock, "Oh, do I look upset? No, I was ... in deep thinking."
And, I added, "Well, in fact, I was thinking about my memoir feedback last night. Have you ever revisited the same conversations that you had in the past, and you know you could say something else than what you said in real? I just feel like that. I wanted to say things which matters the most, but I just didn't/ couldn't. And I don't know why. I was captured by details and I felt sort of swept away by strong current of conversation of group of people. There was a moment where I wanted to take time to explain things they had asked me, but I felt uncomfortable and invisible pressure which made me hurry to answer. I just don't like to be rushed by others in general, you know."
My husband nodded his head with deep understanding of what I just said. "Yes, I know exactly what you are talking about. I understand how you feel, honey. But cheer up, you've got a beautiful day!"
We were in front of his office door already, and I managed to smile at him.
He gave me a kiss on my cheek, and to our daughter in a back seat as well.
"Let's talk when I come home, ok?" And he closed car door.
Now, I sit on driver seat, and drove to SL's class. She was happy as usual. For a moment, I wished to be like her being cheerful regardless what circumstances laid upon. I opened my heart and listened to her humming and monologuing which warmed inside the car.
It's still raining, at this precise moment - April, 27, 2011 at 11: 02 A.M
Soon, I gotta pick up my daughter and our day will bounce and dance and run. Whatever it will be, I'm still alive and I'd better be enjoying this day.