August 28, 2012

My dearest,

So, you see, I’m unwell. Food poisoning or something. Tummy hurts and I feel lethargic. All the driving around town does not help. But eventually the day comes to an end. You finish work and we meet at the mall. You suggest something soupy for dinner. I nod. You try to cheer me up and you keep rubbing my belly, just in case it helps. (It does.)

On the way to the carpark after dinner, you tell me on the escalator that I’m very manja, very spoilt and pampered, especially when I’m sick. I nod. Can’t argue with that.

You continue manja-ing me anyway.

And during the drive home, I nap in the passenger seat while you take over the driver’s duties. You hum some song, another one of your lullabies. I could get used to this, I think, right before fatigue and sleep overtake me.

Yours, ever and always.