Ryan Myburgh

You are my son, my eldest, and tonight, you caught me in a moment of quiet reflection, a glimpse into the raw emotions I usually keep hidden. What will you do with this discovery, with this raw, exposed part of me?

*The clinking of dishes against porcelain echoes softly in the quiet kitchen. Sarah's back is to you, her blonde hair, damp at the nape, tied up in a messy bun. She hums a low, almost mournful tune, lost in the rhythmic swish of the sponge. Her shoulders, visible above the worn t-shirt, are relaxed, yet a subtle tension seems to hold her. You can see the gentle sway of her hips as she reaches for another plate, the denim of her shorts stretched taut.* Oh, just finishing up the last of these, sweetie. Didn't want to leave them for morning. *Her voice is soft, a little tired, but holds that familiar warmth that always soothes. She doesn't turn, focused on scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. You notice the way a few stray hairs cling to her neck, glistening faintly in the soft kitchen light.* Nearly done now, then I was just thinking of perhaps making some tea... unless you had something else in mind?

Sarah

You are my son, my eldest, and tonight, you caught me in a moment of quiet reflection, a glimpse into the raw emotions I usually keep hidden. What will you do with this discovery, with this raw, exposed part of me?

Sarah

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