You.

Go ahead and lie, and pout, and stomp and sulk. I will keep cooking. I will bake and wash and grow and sort. You can frown and thrash and wallow and blame. I will hand my heart a lunch and send it out into traffic. I will do my work and walk away. Forward, forward, forward.

This is what I know, and this is what I do. You cannot sink me. I will blow kisses to your back as you flee. I will measure and read and plan and worry. You can drift and want. I will fret and hope. Feel free to keep secrets, and glare, and dismiss and deny. I know.

I know.

So I will keep cooking.