“I’m not at all hungry.” The pout could be heard in my voice. It was either forced or half-true, and you didn't even notice the peculiar, heavy air that surrounded me. You slightly pushed me forward in the line and insisted that I decide on what to eat for mid-afternoon lunch. One shouldn’t miss on nourishment, you said as an afterthought. But did you know there really was no such thing in fast-food? I told you that I wasn’t in the mood for anything anyway. You wouldn’t listen, grinning in a smug sort of way and asking me what I would like to have for the fifth time with a tone of finality in your voice. I didn't flinch when you suddenly pinned me close to your body and rested your chin on the crown of my head, but still it was a gesture that I hadn't expected you would do in such a situation. But then again it was just the perfect place to be ourselves, where nobody knew us and nobody cared. It spawned bitterness somehow, the bile rising from the stomach to my mouth. I lost my appetite altogether.
All the world loves a clown
- Kendii
- I'm an MA student on leave, a whiner, a great pretender, and your next best friend from hell. I write for oyster mushrooms, broccoli, oregano and chocolates, for dresses thrifted and otherwise, for sadistic tendencies and the little boys, for full moons of the last 5 years, for the downpour that never goes away, for stolen gazes and fragile hopes, for letters that will only be read once, and for the "us" that there never was.