Warmth

Dear home

There is a constant flow of warmth within my home, where emotions sculpt semicircular curves on my face, often coaxing tears to roll down my cheeks. The ethereal warmth of my mother’s hand, the sage guidance bestowed by my father in every facet of my life, and the delightful skirmishes with my brother collectively…

A story of warmth.

The cold nights of Poush have a distinct sense of dread to them. Every year, this time around, I find it difficult to breathe in the sharp air; the air poses no warmth whatsoever and as it passes through my lungs I quiver. Mornings, I feel strangely depressed, finding it difficult to leave the…