Some evenings, sleep even doesn't show up at all. You know the type: Your mind roaming, hours stretching, your heart wanting something soft. I didn't want to scroll through noise or sit staring at that mobile. I wanted comfort.
Barefoot, hair in a messy bun, I returned to the kitchen, chasing comfort in the form of banana bread made from bananas which were way past their prime and just wanted to be cooked. The kitchen lights were dim, a warm glow over the stove. I picked up two bananas, mashed them up, and added some cinnamon plus chocolate chips, and a little vanilla.
The kitchen becomes a sanctuary after dark.
"That night it reminded me: Sometimes healing doesn't look big or dramatic. Sometimes it's only baking something sweet while everybody else is asleep."
But I was very much patient. Slowly I moved, allowing the process to root me in place. Just the sound of the spoon, the gentle hum of the oven. While the butter and sweet bread baked, a scent permeated my surroundings, sweet, buttery, a hug floating in the air, my arms lifting as if my spirits soared with joy.
I put on a blanket, sat on the kitchen floor and just allowed it to warm up. When my timer went off, I cut a slice from the pan—too hot, however. Gooey chocolate, soft crumbs, nothing else but quiet around. It tasted like comfort, no need to explain it.