27 April 2012
A sigh of relief escapes her lips as she stares into the bowl of cookie dough. With the deafening sound of the mixer ceasing talk, she slowly spirals into chaos. She grips the counter, the only thing keeping her from slipping away. She barley notices the gentle touch of her mothers hand on her own, as she struggles to keep control. The sudden quietness snaps her back as her mother turns the mixer off. She gives her mothers hand a little squeeze and hides behind her smile.
Tradition • Opuss № I