Love. It was written there on my spoon, alphabet soup. L-o-v-e love, in perfect formation at the side of my mouth there it was.
It kind of rose up out of the spoon, and I watched it hover on top of my head before sinking down and splashing me with hot fake tomato broth that was salty and delicious.
The kitchen is spinning in circles and my head hurts, and the walls are coming apart even though they remain exactly in the same place. I feel like if I blow I’ll blow the whole house down, and the walls with fall apart and I’ll be stuck in the snow, eating the love and shoving it down, feeling the hot liquid sink down to my belly and chomping up the word as an act of revenge.
Alphabet soup, maybe it was karma? What are the chances after all, that it would come out, all perfectly like that, spelled out for me on metal, and in red no less. The snow is falling outside the window, and the walls are sturdy and I’m cozy and warm, and I stick my spoon in one more time, half expecting some sort of sign, and I get the letters B-K-G. I should have known.
After all, it’s just alphabet soup.
**Accidentally skipped over a day in January, so I took this one from December.