Wooshfill

On the very last day,
I stood alone in the kitchen
just me, the quiet,
and onions slowly turning golden
as garlic softened into magic
for my humble chicken pulav.

Pepper cracked like tiny fireworks
under my fingers,
and somewhere between the steam
and the rice rising into fluffy joy,
I felt it –
my life, in this ordinary moment,
was quietly perfect.

The chicken browned
into its own little celebration,
Maillard reaction working overtime,
and I did the only thing
that made sense
I called the two humans
who make my small world complete.

We laughed, we talked,
we agreed the dish was perfect
and quietly, in that moment,
so was my heart.

If this isn’t what life is for,
I don’t know what is.

And tomorrow, a new year begins

But tonight, this is enough.