The Smallest Hollow
This was the day you get used to eating on the floor. The crumbs, well, they just fell from your mouth, not hoping to grow back into that familiar shape of a bread. You must think that the world is going to end, yet by noon, the streets are still filled with people. Loneliness, that conspicuous sinkhole in the middle of the crowd, waves at you. You still feel that you wanted more, more pain, more hunger, more things to do and undo..
The bus honks. It is your cue to linger until it is your time to shine, to die, little by little until you realize that you have been happy all along, that you have always been fine, that you have become oblivious to the fact that you are already reading aloud, the words sounding more familiar than before.