Last night, as I curled up in my bed, with blocked nose and headache, more than your soft and tender touch, I was missing something else about you. I was missing eating the food you used to make. It struck so deep and so sudden - the realisation that I will never be able to taste anything made by you. I can still eat the things you loved to cook and the things you loved to eat. But it's never the same. Even the most simple dish I treasure like a mad, hungry man who never had anything to eat at all. I guess I never thought I could be or would ever be emotional about food. I know I am.
I can now completely understand why sister follows the same methods as you did while cooking. She makes sure...
November 27, 2011
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