Mother’s Milk
written by: Lisa Rivers Kiesling
In the quiet corner of the sitting room hides the most fabulous and deliciously comfy overstuffed chair that Alice ever had the pleasure of sitting in. She had found it to possess the ability to tightly squeeze and melt away all of life’s unpleasantries. She had named the chair Homer, a private play on words, joking that it would be the closest she would ever get to anything resembling home.
“Home” isn’t easy to define and even harder to find, her grandmother had been known to say.
Mother’s Milk, like most of her best discoveries, was stumbled upon purely by happenstance. The bohemian coffee shop sat on the corner of Hope Street and Reality Boulevard and was a haven for those seeking solace and human connection. A place where life’s stories converged. And from the very first soy latte and gluten-free muffin, she was Home.
On this day, amidst the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, two strangers found themselves seated at adjacent chairs. Their eyes met, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. The young woman wore a faded smile that hid a lifetime of triumphs and heartaches. The man carried a burden of sorrow that noticeably weighed upon his shoulders.
As if guided by an invisible force, Alice reached into her bag and pulled out a tattered notebook. Its pages were filled with inked memories, fragments of her existence. Slowly she flipped through them, searching for solace.
Curiosity sparked within the gentleman’s eyes, and he leaned forward. “May I ask what you’re reading? Those pages seem to hold more than just words.”
Her eyes shimmered with a mix of nostalgia and vulnerability. She whispered, “These pages hold the stories of strangers. People I’ve met over the years, each with their own sorrows and joys. They remind me of the beauty and fragility of the human connections.”
Intrigued, he hesitated before revealing his own secret. From his pocket, he retrieved a locket, worn and aged. He opened it, revealing a faded photograph of a young woman with a radiant smile. “This is my wife,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “She passed away years ago, but her presence remains etched in my heart.”
Alice’s eyes softened, recognizing the pain that echoed through his words. A bittersweet melody now surrounded them, as if their souls were harmonizing in the midst of their shared sorrows.
They continued to exchange stories, completely immersed in the dance of words and emotions. Recounting tales of love and loss, of strangers who became friends and friends who became strangers. And in that ephemeral moment, while sharing anecdotes of resilience, highlighting the strength that emerged from their darkest of nights, their connection transcended the boundaries of time and space. They laughed, they cried, and together, they embraced the mysteries of being human.
As the sun began to set, casting an orange glow upon the city streets, two new friends exchanged heartfelt goodbyes. And although their encounter had been brief, its impact would resonate within them forever.
In the days that followed, Alice continued her journey, collecting stories like precious gems, cherishing the tattered pages dedicated to Samuel, whose wife had called him home.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to feel the embrace of her favorite chair realizing once again, her spirit had been fed by Mother’s Milk.
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