Dining In

I’ve really gained an affinity for eating alone. It’s the time where I have the most to say, but no one is there to say it to. I reflect on my conversational etiquette. There as I sit next to a window; To avoid making awkward eye contact with a group of people, a couple, or just another person eating alone. My meals aren’t as savory when I’m not smiling from a joke or from the enjoyment of having someone else’s company. Though I do tend to eat faster when it’s just me sitting at the table. It’s not me rushing to quickly remove myself from being by myself. It’s the constant ideas that materialize into my head that make feel like I have to be in some sort of frenzy. The only things moving are my hands and my jaws. If there were someone across from me the same actions would be exercised. My mind rapidly playing emotional events from my life in ways that they didn’t happen. If I could rewrite history while I dig my plastic recyclable spoon into my meal. Harness the power of space and time to change the errors of my past. I’ve really gained an appreciation for eating alone. There is when I spend my time precisely as I need to. My eyes hang low over my plate as I stare across from me. Imaging someone there; Someone there who would listen. I still keep too many things to myself. I can’t imagine a life where I have to explain away almost everything I think to myself. The water that flows from the faucet are my opinions and the pipe that control it’s flow has been frozen for awhile. As cold as the steel that reinforces the tower of my imagination. There I sit quietly. Eating. While my mind is the loudest it’s ever been.

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