Getting supper ready, had something to drink, and now I'm singing along with a playlist (see title) specially conceived for just these moments. Yeah, singing. Which sometimes switches to whistling. My kids hear me, I guess, but nobody else. I raise my voice to let the emotions out, to amplify them too, in the forbidden secrecy of my messy kitchen. Is my voice bad? I don't think so, but I can't judge. It doesn't matter. In these moments it's mine alone.
But I don't feel alone today.
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