My mom would often wake me when i was sick.
Before i opened my eyes I knew it was her.
The coolness of her palm relieved some of the discomfort I felt.
The smell of soup filled the room.
I never really cared for Chicken Noodle Soup.
But then I remembered.
The feeling of my mothers palm on my forehead.
How safe and cared for I felt .
The room is dark
My mothers palm does nothing for the pain.
With strained eyes i look down
Soup gets saltier only by the second.
As salt rained down on my bowl.
The pitter patter only getting worse.
My moms voice louder by the second.
I just wanted chicken noodle soup.