MAKING UP.

My bedroom door opens, and my mother walks in. I honestly don't know what time of the bright morning it is, and I also can't recall what time I drowned into sleep last night. My head still feels so heavy with pending thoughts. I might have been thinking even in my sleep. Pss! Ooh me!

I lazily pull myself up, sitting straight on the bed, and wait for my mother to speak. She looks so heavily pregnant with utterance, which I don't quite understand because we were on a clear page when we retired to bed last night. We had a loquacious family dialogue after Rita left, and we came to an understanding. I had a wide range of elucidating to do, and I did so without leaving out a thing. I poured out my all—my feelings, my thoughts, my sentiments, everything.

After the lengthy beneficial lectures, even from my younger siblings, I felt so relieved, like a very enormous burden had been lifted off my chest. Nevertheless, I still found myself ambling in thoughts when I laid down on my bed, fathoming