dinner is ready, your mom calls from downstairs
earning a frustrated groan from you
as you make your way down to get this done and over with.
the table is already set for four
and you take your seat between your little brother making an airplane out of the cutlery
and your father drinking in the headlines of the day, rather than the tea next to him,
while you sink your teeth into your lips,
stopping yourself from accusing the woman to have cooked the same vegetable for the third time in a row.
a silent prayer kills the silence
and questions about how your day has been fill your nostrils
while the aroma of the food touches your ears.
this was the reason you didn’t like eating with them-
these dinner table conversations where your father suddenly seemed interested in your life
rather than the football player from his favorite team
made you realise just how much you’ve been missing out on, without knowing
and it killed you to crave for it somewhere in your heart,
just like you unintentionally desired for your mother’s cooking
third time in a row.
you curtly reply to his question
as the bitter gourd melts into a vapid bolus in your mouth-
i wonder if it tastes like every person you’ve loved but lost
because they were just as bland and revolting.
you screech your chair backwards in an attempt to leave the rest of your food unattended
but your mother forces you down to spend some ‘quality time’ with the family.
so you empty the contents of your plate like the rooms in your brain,
and your brother brings up the new girl who found her way into your inbox
as you choke on water and dismiss his words with a rushed excuse of her being a project partner
just like the ones before her were just friends or study buddies.
i ask you-
didn’t anyone ever teach you to take your time?
eat smaller bites than biting more than you can chew?
maybe this is the reason why you choke on your lies-
you feed yourself so much more than you can take.
(Continued in the comments)