I understand love when my father yells at me. He first beckons me to come close to him, so that he may share some important information only intended for my ear. I trust him, and I also fear his coffee breath. No words are exchanged. I only receive a good boxing on the side of my head from his clenched adult fist. I bleed. My ear clogs. Quite a lot of information for me to process. Pain, but lovingly numbed and cushioned by liquid love. Directly from the heart.
(c) Neesa Sunar 2014
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