Warmth.

It was chillly again. As I walked back to my block, the night was quiet. A kitten scampered away but I didn't mean to cross its path. As I took the lift up just now, I was breathing really slowly and deeply. I saw my reflection in the plastic panel as I passed the various storeys. Saw my face looking back at me.

It was a tough day. Mom opened the door, took the mail I collected and my bag. I undressed a little and then went to the kitchen. She had told me to eat the porridge while it was still warm. Upon entering the kitchen, she was muttering to herself. She could have been talking to me but I didn't really take it in. I was just looking at her, bending over the stove, scooping the stew and egg onto a plate. After that, she went on to scoop the porridge and tried as far as possible to separate the fluid from the porridge.

She handed the plate to me. I took it to the living room and decided to retreat to the kitchen. The tv was too noisy. So I sat in the kitchen eating my porridge while she sat in the living room as usual. When I finished, I went out and saw her reading the mail.

Sometimes days are bad. But whatever it is, when you can come home to someone who cares for you, the most simple fare can taste perfect. It's the taste of home. The weather may be cold but my heart is warmer than ever.