Between the silences

He makes us dinner.

I offered, but he tells me he's "got it."

I've never had dinner made for me before. The care taken; multi-step dish.

And we eat in the silence

with the birds' chirps softly outside our window and the soft yellow light of his lamps illuminating our plates.

And our spoons grazing ungracefully against our china bowls.

And between the silences I begin to heal.