Hand
There you are sitting in your parents' dining room listening to your mother criticizing everything about you and your life.
Starting at how the your crazy curly hair looks. Going over to your choice of job, friends, clothes, car, apartment hell everything. In your mothers eyes you can´t do anything right.
And all those people sitting around the table, your supposed loved ones, what do they do?
Do they stand up for you?
Do they defend you?
Do they have your back?
Or do they shovel food in their mouths?
Asking for the juicy bits, so they can share and aggrandize them at the beauty parlor?
Or do they agree with their mother, loudly; so that their own life doesn´t seem so pathetic?
And suddenly there he is.
Taking a seat right beside you.
Smiling the smile he only smiles for you.
And he holds your hand…
