In our twenties, Fights would last for a few days.
Hand written letters and Sorry scribbled on the mirror with lipstick would reinstate Peace.
Thirties changed the content of Fights.
Peace made way through brushing of our feet under the cotton sheet, in the middle of the night.
Fights in Forties were resolved with every bite full of spicy rice she fed me with her hands.
Fifties introduced Fights with Wings.
They were fought on the battle ground and flew out of the house on a whim.
In our Sixties, a cup of tea could restore happiness even in between a fight.
Somewhere through the Seventies, we forgot what we were fighting about and gave up.
How I missed Fights in our Eighties!
Now, I fought mostly with God.
She smiled from her photo on the wall.
I made peace and went back to playing Patience.