I don't miss many things about living with my parents but this feeling has been haunting me here in Amman, of all people there I miss, I have an overwhelming longing for being around my mom and dad and I realized that living with them was not as bad as I had always thought because I always took for granted the energy of love they had filled every room of the house with, every wall and everything their hands touched. But of all people I miss there, and maybe with a slight feeling of guilt I can say even a bit more than my dear 3 year old nephew, I miss them. I miss those Sunday mornings when I walk half asleep to the balcony where my dad, already dressed up and shaved although going nowhere, is helping my mother prepare lunch while having their first sips of coffee, I could see them stuffing zucchini, cabbages, vine leaves, chicken, or anything that can be pierced, with lots of rice and love. I would walk past them without any goodmornings, I would barely lift my hand in Salam and they would smile at my nonchalance before they would mess up their calm morning to serve me like a queen who must be attended to, and I would take advantage, sometimes ignoring and belittling their over care with that arrogant 'leave me alone' look. They would but I could feel their eyes roaming around me for the slightest sign of 'she might need something' and before I reached for my lighter they would bring me the ashtray. I don't tell them how much I love them as often as I want to and I probably won't so here: I love you maybe slightly more than you know.
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