On Lost Paper
As the soup cools off the vapors take me
back to my childhood and I can see my granny sitting in the kitchen with me.
The flash pot on the stove fizzes, telling stories in a language I can only
feel. There is a sense of coziness and security. My granny holds a book in her
knotted hands. I have just started reading and peering at the cover of the book
I am able to make out the title: Chicken Soup for the Soul. "What is a
soul, Granny?" I ask her.
Vesislava Savova
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