Row upon row of food-stuffs fill the shelves. I gaze in envy of the restraint it must take. I think of my own house and the pitifully empty fridge buzzing away, cooling the air in that corner of the kitchen. It baffles me how this food is just sitting there—how it carelessly it wastes away without the imminent threat of being consumed by a ravenous beast, caught in the grasp of gluttony.
Such promise is on those shelves.
I am painfully conscious that no one else is taking note of the absolutely ordinary pantry. But I cannot avert my gaze. What seems normal to everyone else is my biggest flaw. I can only casually offer excuses for the lack of food in my kitchen for so long before people start to realize the truth. I know it won’t be long before she understands that whatever is in my fridge one day will be mixed with vile soup stock made from stomach bile and tears in the toilet as soon as I am alone.
This week’s FFFAW forced some serious tones out of me and hit a topic I very rarely discuss. Thank you.