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Hot Soup

You can’t expect somebody to understand your love for hot soups, when toasted loaves are all that they know. Layers of flavours hugged the curves of your spoon, filling up your devoted heart. Glossy eyes stare back at you while you devoured. Breaking the ends of your mind thinking of how to explain, your love for soup - or your love for them. You tugged the ends of your wool sweater sleeves, patiently waiting for. Something, anything. 

You’re getting tired. It’s just food, what’s there to dispute, but it’s not just about food. It’s about waiting for them to understand you, keeping yourself naively optimistic about their emotions and you truly do feel like you’re hanging on a fine thread of blind hope. 

When desperation creeps in slowly behind you, normal days changed into morning toast meals so you could talk to them more, hold their hand a little longer. Then heavy night comes, you talk to yourself over things you couldn’t talk to them. 

You can’t expect somebody to understand your love for hot soups, you just find somebody who love hot soups - any kind, like you. 

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